Colette
by MegGenScull
Summary: (initially called finale) The End is nigh for the Winchester brothers, and the Mark of Cain seems to thud with every heartbeat. Along with Cas, the brothers have to defeat Abaddon, Metatron and all the other's threatening the world. Can they patch up their broken relationship? Can they come together and save the world, again? AU from 9x21, Canon divergence.
1. Bad Moon Rising

_Hey omnii, it's Megan here, just checking up post bloodlines hoping everyone isn't too repulsed by it all (and by the placement...a filler in episode 20? Really?) Anyway, here's my absolute number one wish for the next few episodes. I loved Hannah (she was so cute) and hope she makes an appearance, and if the boys don't get their act together I'm going to punch someone._

_I'm looking at you, Edlund._

_Season 9 finale fic! Enjoy :)_

* * *

There are warehouses all across the US coastline. Then there are warehouses all throughout the centre of the US, but the majority find themselves around at ports, sinking into the livelihood of the beach dwelling American. Of the a-typical city-slicker.

As much as he hated it, it was Police Officer Shurley's mission to go through these warehouses at his end of the bargain. There weren't that many, importing and exporting had started to pick up again and companies were reclaiming their lost land. But he still had to make his rounds, entering into the warehouse, shaking around his baton, yelling at whoever was in there to leave, that he had a gun, that he wasn't afraid to use it.

It was bad, because normally it was just homeless guys. Men and Ladies who'd fell on tough times and had nowhere else to go. But the council was worried about image, and the companies not using their warehouses and were planning to sell didn't want 'Bum' stretched across one corner of the floor, spelled out in raggedy clothes and mismatched possessions. So Shurley did what he had to. He did what payed the bills and kept his wife happy. He did what any normal man would do.

This particular warehouse was sleek and cleaner than most. It had foot traffic out the front door and had been out of commission for years, so Shurley entered on it, hand near to his extendable baton, other hand itching to close in on his handgun. The night blew through with a chilling breeze that seized at the aging cop, struggling to pull his jacket tighter around him.

"Hello?" He called out, opening the door. "I am armed and I am asking you to leave on the authority of the American State Police Force."

There was silence from within and Shurley took that as a notion to proceed. He walked in slowly and moved to where the switches for the lights were. He reached over and flicked up the light but there was no change, only darkness, only the _drip drip drip _of a busted water main and the occasional shrill whistle of the wind as it blew through the building. Shurley flicked on his torch and the beam cut through the darkness with an eerie sort of contrast. His light was all he could see, that thin beam that sliced through the air.

It was firghtening, if he was honest. But he'd not been sure that the light would come on, so the torch had been a reliable back up.

"Hello?" He called again, moving into the room, scanning the walls with his torch. "A reminder that this is private property, and under State and National law you have no right to be here without express allowance from the owner of said property."

The building shuddered as the wind picked up and Shurley scanned his torch through the room once again, the beam of yellow slicing through the black. But it all felt so meagre, the light. As soon as his back was turned, it was swallowed into darkness. If he held the torch away he couldn't even see the hand in front of his face.

He walked on slowly, his footsteps thudded at the same time as his heart. A nice, rhythmic, _thump, thu-thump, thump_. He could hear it in his throat, he could hear ringing in his ears whenever the wind died down enough for the silence of the place to steal over him.

He panicked, then, that he wouldn't be able to find the door again.

He swung around in his blind, irrational surge of fear. His light touched the silver steel of the door handle and he breathed a sigh of relief. There wasn't anyone in here, and if there was, he'd find traces of them when he came searching again in the morning.

_Three more minutes, _he breathed to himself, letting the torch go limp in his hand, the light pulsating towards the dirty floor. _Then you go._

He took a nice long steadying breath, steeling himself, giving him the _You're a cop, be braver than this _speech. Reminding himself of valour and in the darkness, his breath was invisible as it was in the light, and for some reason, this comforted him.

He righted his torch, turned around and there was a face, her face, all red as blood and eyes as bright and hungry as he'd ever seen them.

He stumbled back and his mouth thudded around the words. She was grinning, her teeth were white and her lips were red (_and red and red_) and she stepped forward.

He took a steadying breath, another one, and then stood up properly. "Lady, you shouldn't be here."

She frowned. "No?"

Her voice caught him. After popping out through the dark he expected her to be abrasive (or British) but it was _normal_. Like she was normal. Her face gave him chills but her voice reminded him that he was being an idiot. Jesus, Chris, get yourself together.

"This..." he glanced down and looked back up at her, who was watching him patiently. His voice was weak when he spoke next. "It's...it's, uh, private property, ma'am."

She looked confused. "Surely you can make," and then she grinned. _Jesus _she was terrifying. "An exception for little old me?"

Shurley opened his mouth three times before he got the words out. "Uh, no. No. I'm going to have to ask you and anyone else here to leave. If you need help finding somewhere to sleep, there are missionaries-"

She barked a laugh and walked forward, further into the light. "Church groups?"

Shurley couldn't talk, not with her so close. Not with every bone in his body screaming at him to run, to just _leave her _here. Because she was so large and dark and frightening and it _wasn't fair. _He just nodded and watched her warily, not daring to look her directly in the eye.

She lowered her chin and looked at him, with all the finesse of a huntress. "I don't think," her eyes flickered to black, stone and thick as an obsidian. "They'll take to me, don't you think?"

Chris swore and jerked back, his feet responding dully, tripping over and losing himself in the light. The torch fell from his grasp and fell along the floor, spilling light off along the ground. The woman disappeared. He fell heavily, glancing the weight onto his hand and knees. He span on his lower back and grasped towards the torch, spinning it in his hands, trembling with fear. His heart had once been a steady thud in time with his walk.

_thud-thud-thud-thud-thu-thud-thu-thud _

like the seconds counting down had sped up, like he was running towards death.

He flicked the light up and saw her, break through the darkness and lean over him. With unbelievable strength she picked him up and held him, one hand around his neck and the other dangling by her side. He still held the torch and he could see the contours of her face, regal cheek bones and bottomless eyes. He gasped and scraped at her hand, but she was unmoved. He could feel his heartbeat picking up even faster, loud and terrible in his ears, the blood pumping through his body racing through his veins. _Save me, save me, save me._

She cocked her head and smiled. "Now," she said, breathing easy as he stumbled for breath. "This won't hurt a bit."

She breathed up at him, but the breath wasn't clear as his had been. It seemed almost fitting that it spilled out of her in gaseous black waves, arching with an odd sort of beauty towards his open mouth.

_Snap. He was sitting in the police station. Two FBI agents walked in. One with hair way too long to be a fed and the other shorter, with steely green eyes and a no-nonsense look about him._

_"We're here for the Duval murder?" The taller one asked, smiling at him, flashing his FBI badge._

_Fast-forward. He sat in the diner next to his wife. She was on her phone, talking to her company about one thing or another. He was drowning his sorrows in coffee. _

_She snapped her phone closed and smiled up at him. Her eyes glowed like cherries. "Sorry baby, I had to finish up there."_

_"That's ok," he'd said, smiling. "Somebody's gotta bring home to bacon, right?"_

_She laughed at him._

_Behind her the two agents sat, close enough to have been brothers. The taller one looked upset, frowning into his salad. "Dean-"_

_"_No_, Sammy," he snapped. "Jesus Christ. I'm fine."_

_"You're _not _fine," Sammy insisted (Shurley was sure he'd said his name was Graham Ross). "Dean, please-"_

_"The First Blade, Sam," Dean said (who was supposed to be Lenny Kruger) and he wasn't looking at his partner, or his dinner, or the young, attractive waitress who'd been side-eyeing him for a while now. "That's all that matters. We find that bitch. We get the blade. This ends."_

_Sammy looked down at his hands. His shoulders said what his mouth wouldn't. _This won't end. This never ends.

_Fling forward and the agents are driving through town in their black, liquorice car._

_They're smiling, and for some reason, the sight brings happiness to Shurley._

He blinks and he's back in the warehouse, suspended over the ground, Abaddon's face millimetres from him.

Abaddon? Where the hell did that come from? He'd heard of the name, might have been mentioned in passing during the time the priest had raved about the apocalypse and all the demons of Hell that were going to come up and devour their souls, but he couldn't be sure.

"Abaddon," he whispered, words coughed through strained lungs.

She smiled at him, her eyes were black and angry and God, if he didn't know better, _worried._ "Adios, Officer."

He felt her hand clench tighter, he felt the air cut off, he felt the darkness invade his sight.

His neck snapped, his flesh exploded, she threw him to the ground, unseeing, dead.

Abaddon stalked out of the warehouse and her shoes clicked on the ground. She needed to _think_. The first blade. Of _course._ Dean had taken on the Mark. He was gunning for her.

She made her way to outside the warehouse, where lights and the moon was more than enough light to see her, in a leather jacket and a stolen body.

Her eyes flashed again to ink and she smiled.

Abaddon got to thinking. She thought about the angel that Dean had had with him. She thought about what she knew of Castiel and all that he had become. She thought about Sam Winchester and how near death he was when she had come to intervene on the final Trial.

She thought about Dean and Sam and the Winchesters and all their messed up love for each other. She thought about Sam's shoulders and their hesitant smiles and all she had noticed during watching the memories of the dead police officer, who would be found the next morning by a worried squadron. About their trust.

And she thought about Crowley.

And she wondered if it was worth it, if she was on to something.

She closed her eyes and materialized away, the only sign that she'd ever been there a steadily growing puddle of blood coating the warehouses floor.

* * *

Castiel had taken Hannah into his confidence more than any other of the angels. She was sweet and kind and earnest, but she trusted him. She was foolish and naive, but no more so than any other of the angels who had spent all their time tending to souls and awaiting battle orders from corrupt angels. She was kind to Castiel and forgving and Cas couldn't help think that if all angels were like her, including himself, everything would be much more peaceful. Much more in line to what he had thought their purpose was.

But Hannah and all the others relied on him. He thought about what Metatron had said through Gabriel. That the other Angels couldn't handle Free Will. Castiel looked out to them worryingly. Because they couldn't. They _couldn't_. All the angels who could have been leaders were dead, with the exception of Morticae. But he was insane and cruel and had proved to be so when he'd killed Muriel. Cas had liked that angel. She'd been kind to him.

So few angels were kind at all, anymore.

Hannah sat with Cas in his motel room. The rest had gotten rooms where they could. Most shared and because none of them had to sleep, it was just a place for down time, where they could deal with the human emotions that their vessels had given them in peace.

"What's the plan?" Hannah frowned. "You want to kidnap one of Metatron's angels?"

"Some will know of his plan," Castiel said. "And it's not Metatron I want. It's Gadreel."

Hannah's face darkened, as all Angels did whenever the traitor was mentioned. She had more cause for hatred than he did, he had killed her brothers and sisters. Left alive only to be a plot device for Metatron's twisted story. "Why is that, Castiel?"

He felt weird whenever someone used his whole name. 'Cas' was synonymous with 'friend' and 'trust'. Castiel was the angel of the lord who'd freed Sam Winchester from the panic room and started the apocalypse. Castiel was the god who'd killed al those angels and consumed all those souls. Castiel was the ne who'd brought the Leviathans to earth and was the one who'd been manipulated by Naomi to kill Dean.

"Because Angels have to stop fighting angels," he said, looking at the papers in front of him with the plans for Metatron's angel's capture. he wouldn't look Hannah in the eye. "And it has to start somewhere."

Hannah smiled and placed her hand on his. "It does, Cas. You're doing the best you can."

_Cas_. He looked up and smiled at her in thanks. Perhaps she didn't know how much it meant to him, or perhaps she suspected. She was clever, they were all clever. That was one thing Raphael and all the other superior angels had forgotten. Something that Cas swore he wouldn't.

The door banged open and an angel ran in. Remington huffed in, eyes wide with shock, surprise, wonder.

"Castiel," he gaped. "We know where one is."

Hannah and Cas stood in unison. They gaped in shock, before Cas turned to his second in Command.

"Assemble five of the best fighters," he ordered her. Then he hesitated. "If they don't want to fight, find someone else."

She hesitated before nodding again. Then she headed out the door and Remington looked at Castiel in wonder. "It's starting, isn't it?"

Castiel nodded a little slowly, before picking up his phone and preparing to call Sam and Dean. "I think so."

* * *

Ennis watched as Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala.

Sam glanced out the window to where the man was standing outside his house, all alone, with only the engagement Ring hung around his neck for company.

"Do you think he'll be ok?" Sam asked, watching the young man worriedly.

Dean glanced out. "he'll be fine, Sammy. Quit worrying."

Sam sighed and sank into the passenger seat and Dean gunned the engine. They drove through Chicago and out of the city, towards New York and what Cas had said waited for them there.

The car trundled down the street at a soft, familiar pace. The boys were tired. Chicago was supposed to be a quick job, not some entirely new problem they didn't have time to deal with. It was so disheartening, to be so far along the road, beyond Lucifer and Michael and then Dick Roman, even the angel and demon problem was looking like it had an end. Looked like there was some light at the end of the road. Throw all the angels back in heaven, clam down the gates of Hell, kill Abaddon before she caused more trouble and somehow fix the Crowley Problem.

Ok, so they had a while to go, and it didn't help that God was literally working against them. How much power did Metatron have? Did he just see the world or was he creating it? Was his intrusion proof that Free Will had been an illusion all along.

Sam looked out the window morosely, the colours flashing by familiar, but new. No. He refused to believe that. He had to believe that there was a way to end Metatron and to finish this all once and for all.

"You ok?" Dean's voice was gruff. The tired words spelled themselves out hesitantly. Sam glanced over and ran a hand through his hair, felt his throat constrict and his eyes well up.

Ennis had been far from a distraction. A new hunter, prompted by his girlfriends death with two dead parents? Yeah, it hit close to home. It pretty much hit _exactly _home. But Ennis had it harder. Ennis didn't have Dean. Dean's arm against his in the church at her funeral. Dean waiting in the car while Sam cried at her grave. Dean watching him carefully, there to talk to after he dreamed of her dying, again and again and again.

It hurt that their relationship was so broken. When it had once been so good and pure. When they'd just been two boys in their dads car, chasing down their father, saving as many people as they could. Ghosts and shifters and werewolves and low-level demons. Jess's death fresh in their mind, Mary's killer still AWOL. Sam wasn't the psycho Demon's bitch, or Lucifer's tainted vessel, or the Boy With the Demon Blood. He'd just been Sam. Sammy. College boy.

"Not really," Sam admitted, tired of holding out. He didn't trust Dean, not like he once had, but he owed him his honesty. "Seems like the end of the road's even further away."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Man, I _hate _Chicago."

Sam scoffed a laugh. "Same."

Dean sobered. He didn't look at Sam, his eyes stayed fixed to the road spilling out in front of him. "Sammy, if it's any...look. I..."

He trailed off and his hands squeezed down hard on the impala's steering wheel.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said softly, and let it go.

Dean settled back down and shifted his arm, the one with the Mark on it. Under his pulled up sleeve, Sam could see it. Red and inflamed and _wrong_.

Sam thought about Dean's face when he killed the vampire rescuing Alex, or his eyes when he was given the first blade. He thought about the power and how it had felt when he'd drunk Ruby's blood. It had felt strong and powerful. Wrong, maybe. But _so _good.

"Dean," Sam said slowly. "Are...are _you _ok?"

Dean glanced over, smiling, his eyes blank. "Yeah. Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

_Because you never are. _"I was just making sure." _Because you don't have to be._

"Well, don't," Dean said, and his voice was tight.

Neither spoke for the rest of the trip.

* * *

"Sam!" Cas called out to them when the Impala pulled up outside the cafe Hannah had suggested they meet. It was small and out of the way, but the orange and green made it pretty hard to miss. "Dean!"

"Sorry we're late, Cas," Sam said, smiling at their friend as they climbed out of the Impala.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Traffic was a bitch."

There was a group of five angels gathered behind Cas. Three girls and two dudes.

Dean cast them a wary eye. "So, Cas, gonna introduce us?"

Cas blinked and turned to the huddling group of angels. "Uh yes, this is Hannah, Uriah, Beatrice, Rosemary and Romeo."

Sam started slightly and looked at the last Angel, who, with his Soccer-dad outfit looked like the last person you'd call 'Romeo'. "Wait, seriously?"

"I am aware that he is the male protagonist in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet," Cas stated, triumphant.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Thanks Horatio. Ok, who are we waiting on?"

"No one," Hannah looked around the group. "We're all here."

"You only brought five?" Dean asked, flabbergasted.

"Dean, chill," Sam muttered.

Cas looked a little shocked. "Yes, it is only one angel, Dean. I'm sure five will be enough."

Dean glanced at the assembled Flock. "These are your best fighters?"

"The best in their garrisons," Cas stated.

What he didn't say was that a lot of the angels fighting for him were pacifists, they didn't want to fight and saw Cas as the middle man between Bartholomew, who's followers had either died or joined Metatron, and Morticae, who was an idiot and a warmonger.

The angels trilled at the compliment and puffed up their chests, smiling and nodding at the Winchester brother's.

Sam nodded back, Dean watched them stony faced.

"So, where's this angel?" Dean asked.

"She's three miles from here," Hannah responded quickly. "Living in an apartment."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Yes," Cas stated as if it were obvious. "Where else would he be?"

"I dunno, sipping vodka in the back of some bar?" Dean suggested. "What the Hell do angels do on their downtime anyway?"

Cas was silent, thinking. "Well, one time I...stood, still. For a very long time."

Sam nodded. "Profound."

Dean hid a grin.

"So, shall you lead the way?" Romeo asked Cas.

Cas glanced over. "Yes, yes I shall."

The group made their way through the town. It was to be a bit of a walk, and two miles out they split up.

Cas branched off with Hannah and the Winchesters and left Romeo to lead Beatrice, Uriah and Rosemary.

The groups parted ways and the day went on.

"So, where were you when I called?" Cas asked.

"Chicago," Sam answered tensely. "There's something bad going on down there, Cas."

"It's like a frickin' Soap Opera," Dean muttered.

Sam glanced at Dean, exasperated. "Monsters control the city. Five families. And there was this hunter-"

"I appreciate the effort, but I wasn't really that interested," Cas told him, not unkindly.

Sam realised that if it had been a few years ago, he would have been offended. But he'd been around Cas long enough to know that there wasn't meaning offence by that. Cas just said what he thought and treated honesty as something good and important. That's what struck Sam, about the time that he had sold them out to Crowley. That he had done what he had thought was right against his very will.

Sam just laughed. "That's fine, Cas."

Hannah, though, was interested. "What type of monsters?"

"Not Witches, thank God," Dean muttered.

Hannah winced. "Witches. They are awful."

"Djinn, Shifters, Werewolves...and a few other things," Sam trailed off, frowning and trying to remember.

Hannah turned to Dean. "Do you remember the last two?"

Dean gave her a look. "No. I literally couldn't care less."

Cas cast a worried look towards Dean and then a questioning one Sam's way. Sam shrugged and shook his head. He thought, maybe in the car, that the Mark wasn't affecting Dean as badly as it had been, but now, seeing him so grouchy, well, it spelt out a different story for the eldest Winchester.

Sam just worried that now, with everything that was happening, he wouldn't be able to pull Dean back like he had last time. The need, the desire for the thing, it deepened with every passing day. Crowley controlled Dean, and if he controlled Dean he controlled the board. Because the First Blade, with that in his hand, everything would be amplified, everything would be different. All those moods that had steadily grown worse and worse since Magnussen would just get bigger.

_Was it painful? _Sam wanted to ask. _Demon blood burnt like a bitch on the way down. _

But Dean wouldn't say, and he didn't want to make it about him, nor remind his brother of that particularly nasty bit of their history.

"Are we nearly there?" Hannah asked, who shrugged off the slight with surprising decorum. Sam was beginning to like the renegade angel. She didn't have the fight of some of the others they'd found, but there was a very comforting softness in passivity. In not wanting to fight. Sam thought that she and all the others who had joined Cas were very brave. Without him, for months, they were on their own. With no one to follow and no one to believe in. It was either fight against their principles and join the two warring angel sides, betray their kind and join Metatron or die. Hannah's friends had made the last one abundantly clear.

"We should be near now," Cas said, glancing at a street name, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he looked at it. The light was good but dropping. The car ride from Chicago had taken ages, most of which was spent in gridlock along the New York City streets. He nodded and turned back to the group. "Yes, only a few minutes away now."

"We go in first?" Dean asked, pulling out his angel blade and tucking it up his sleeve.

"That's the plan," Cas affirmed.

"Split up," Sam offered. "An Cas or Hannah with Me or Dean."

"I'll take Sam," Hannah said, a little too quickly that made Sam think that she was a little frightened of Dean, of his disrespect towards angels and his snark towards her.

"Fine by me," Sam said. "But I don't have an angel blade."

"This is a capture mission," Cas said, a little worriedly. "Things go right, you won't need one."

The block of flats was just off a main road, and smelt like Weed and Cat piss. Hannah and Sam took, of the three entrances, the one furthest on the left and Cas and Dean took the furthest on the right. This way they'd move throughout the building to the best of their ability.

"Will they be able to sense you?" Dean asked, looking to Cas.

Cas shook his head. "No. We're warded and despite that, our powers are hardly an inch of what they once were. We're...Neo _out _of the Matrix now."

Dean looked bemused and Sam laughed.

"Oh, Dean, they grow up so fast."

Dean grinned. "Just like Jody. It's a shame."

"I'm sorry, Neo?...is that some sort of..._Pop Culture Reference_?" Hannah asked, eyes wide, whispering the last phrase like they might castrate her for not understanding or something along those lines.

Sam smiled. She was nice. Naive, perhaps, but nice. She would watch his back. "Uh, yeah."

"That's still faster than Cas caught on before Metatron zapped him with the knowledge of 40 year old man living with his mother," Dean assured her.

Hannah smiled hesitantly. "Uh. Thank you."

Cas frowned. "Really?"

"_Dean, what is 'Space Jam'?_" Dean mimicked. "Yeah, I'm sure dude. You were a total Pop Culture Virgin."

"We ready?" Sam asked, nodding towards the building.

Dean's face dropped into its recently typical 'Don't mess with me' bunch of grooves and shafts. "Ready. Cas?"

He nodded solemnly.

Sam turned to Hannah and she smiled, nervous, but nodded.

He lead her to the door as Cas and Dean readied themselves at their end.

Dean locked eyes with Sam. It was the thing, that sure, this was one angel, but this could be _it. _Blade through the heart, made of celestial intent or not it'll kill either of the brothers. And now they had higher powers watching each others backs. It was uncomfortable and wrong and strange and Sam wanted to be there, with Dean, but he knew that he shouldn't.

It was one angel and either might die. But Sam had hope, he'd always had hope, he'd been the one to see any sort of end to all of this. So they'd make it through this. Because they'd made it through worse.

* * *

Dean lead Cas through and they made their way slowly through the hall and to the stairs. The angel was likely to have some sort of alert system if someone like Cas or Hannah arrived, but they couldn't leave the angels, not with their strength.

"Dean, I need to speak with you," Cas stated.

"Not now, Cas," Dean hissed.

"No, it must be now," Cas said back, still quiet but loud enough for anyone with their ears on to hear. "It's about you. And Sam."

Dean fought off rolling his eyes. First Kevin, now Cas? Didn't they get that he had tried? That he had explained to Sam everything? That it was Sam's turn to apologise now?

"You need to fix it," Cas stated. "There will be no way we can beat Metatron and return the angels to heaven if you two are not on the terms you were when you averted the last apocalypse."

Dean swallowed and pushed out thoughts of that apocalypse. Pushed it as far as he could. "We're _fine _Cas. Now keep it down."

He lead Cas up the stairs, none of Cas's angel ESP sparking up yet, which wasn't surprising, considering there was only one room on the ground floor and it was a maintenance closet. Despite many other apartment buildings in the sprawling metropolis, this one only had four floors. Four floors and they were out of options.

Dean wasn't all that hopeful.

"It is _not _fine," Cas grabbed Dean's arm and turned him around, staring at him angrily. "You and Sam...Dean, you _share _a heaven. You're going to _have _to fix this."

Then Dean admitted something, something he wouldn't even say to himself. "I screwed up, Cas, ok? I screwed up and now everything has gone to Hell. I tried to fix it-"

"Have you _apologised_?" Cas demanded. "For letting Gadreel use his body without his consent?"

Dean hesitated. "...not exactly-"

"Dean," Cas implored. "Sam has been abused his entire life. First by Azazel, then Meg and Ruby and Lucifer. _Me. _It would _mean _something to him if the next hit came from you. It would hurt more than all of those other times combined."

Dean shook him off and tried not to let the angel see how much the words had affected him. "Fine. Whatever. Can we gank this angel, please?"

"Capture," Cas corrected.

"Wow, Cas," Dean snarked. "Don't let leadership go to your head."

"Shove it," Cas shoved Dean up and Dean was astounded at his strength. He'd forgotten how utterly _strong _Cas and all the other angels were. He knew how to fight them, don't spend any time pissing about, just stab the son of a bitch in the heart. Or the stomach. Metal made out of celestial power didn't agree with Angels. Didn't agree with demons. Didn't agree with anyone.

Dean smothered his stumble and lead the angel up the stairs to the first floor. There was old, mangy carpet on the stairs and across the way they could see Sam and Hannah, talking softly to each other, walking along to meet Dean and Cas in the middle.

Dean nodded to a passageway in front of them and Cas nodded. They turned in unison to where Sam and Hannah were and gestured to where they were headed.

The angel and boy nodded their understanding.

Dean felt the floor beneath his shoes, the air on his cheek, tickling the hairs he hadn't shaved. Everything was bright and clear, like it always was. His heart thumped and he could taste metal at the back of his mouth. Adrenalin slunk through him, razing his defences to the ground and building an empire of heightened awareness and sharp reflex.

He heard Cas's feet echo softly on the carpet behind him.

Then Cas stopped and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. His voice was nearly silent. "Wait..."

The door flew off and Dean caught the brunt of it, slamming into his chest and sending him spinning across the hall into the opposite wall. He hit it heavily and slammed to the ground, hands jerking out to stop his head from hitting it. Cas was already up, but dazed, tipping forward after the retreating angel.

"Shit," Dean swore, gathering himself and pushing after her, the angel was possessing the body of a 'punk' chick, multi-coloured hair and studded pants. His legs trembled on the way down the hall, his body didn't respond fast enough. His head may have cracked on the wall as he slammed against the wall, but he didn't remember the crash vividly enough, which was probably bad. Very bad.

He flung himself around the corner and raced after her retreating figure as she made a mad dash down the stairs.

"SAM!" He yelled out to where his brother and Hannah had been looking. Nothing more than that, his brother would understand.

He sprinted down the stairs. Hell, where were the other angels? Cas's entente and then whoever would have been bunking with the runner?

"Dean!" Dean heard Cas yell after him but he was already on the ground floor and bounding after the angel. He hadn't realised how fast he was getting, how strong and forceful and _there_.

The door was still swinging shut when he charged out of it, all the momentum and drive of a battalion at the siege of Troy. The angel was sprinting down the street and Dean picked up his speed, feet hitting the ground lightly and efficiently, he moved through the cooling, darkening air like he was flying.

Dusk, and people were walking around the streets, ready for a night out. The scrambled to the side as he trundled past, and moved for the angel, but less so. She might be strong, but he's a six foot something dude with his eye fixed solely on her.

Just as Dean reached her, Romeo leapt out and tackled her to the ground, blowing a punch across her cheeks. Dean stopped short and watched as Rosemary, Uriah and Beatrice held the struggling angel down, slamming binding cuffs on her wrists.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and pupils dilated. She looked like an animal. That shocked Dean into action, moving towards where she was bundled and helping hold down her legs while Beatrice snapped on another pair of cuffs around her ankles.

Cas appeared over Dean's shoulder, breathing a little ragged, bending down and looking at Metatron's page with an oddly intimate interest. Next came Sam and Hannah, bearing down like they thought the chase wasn't up. They slowed when they got near, watching like Cas and Dean as she slowly submitted to the Rebels attack.

* * *

"We're only gonna ask once," Dean said silkily, slamming his hand across her face, putting all those years of torture practice to good use. "_Where is Gadreel_?"

She laughed and spat the blood from her broken teeth up at his face. "You've asked me that more than once, pretty boy."

Dean laughed, joining in. Then he levelled their faces and the pretense dropped. He looked into her eyes, smiled and brought his hand across her face again.

Sam looked away and had to drop his eyes to the floor. God, this was so wrong. But Esther had proved difficult to persuade and they _needed _to know where Gadreel was. He had suggested extracting more of the grace when she had first shown hints at being a difficult customer, but Cas had adamantly not allowed it. It had shocked Sam, a little, when Dean had shaken his head and told Cas that it was _Sam's _choice.

That, more than anything, was the thing that had made him back off, suggesting a few more hours of interviewing Esther. Dean torturing though...everything that was happening with the mark was bringing out the worst in Dean. The worst that he'd been burying ever since he'd been pulled out of the pit.

"So you _know _where he is, bitch?" Dean demanded from across the room. Sam looked up and saw a shackled, bleeding Esther grin up at him. He felt his stomach tense and that old anger, the one he'd tried _so hard _to bury over the years threatened to make a come-back.

You don't just _smile _at his brother like that. Not like that. Not with murder in your eyes.

"Of course I do," she purred. "He'd Metatron's little pet, right? No body really trusts the waste of space. Good old New-Dad's got all of his new recruits on the job."

Dean made a face. "You know Metatron is literally your brother, right?"

She didn't look phased. "And?"

Dean smiled sarcastically. "Gross, honey. That's disgusting."

"I feel like he might be deviating," Cas murmured to Sam, who was standing beside him, watching over it like he felt every blow.

Sam shook his head. "He knows what he's doing. He's giving her a sense of...non-normalcy I guess. He won't be constantly mean. He'll be nice. He'll be relatable."

Cas looked at Sam oddly. "How do you know that?"

Sam shrugged. "It's what I do. Did. It's what we've always done."

Dean pulled out the angel blade and then, Sam saw it, true fear in the Angels eyes. Sam had to leave. He crossed the room and the door closed behind him with a thud.

* * *

Dean was taking a break half an hour later, washing blood off his hands and taking a bite to eat, maybe a few hours of sleep. Cas was proficient as any at interrogating people and so Dean had left him to it, the Angel of the Lord washing his sister's vessels blood off his hands with shaking resolve.

"Hey," Sam greeted, sitting across from him on the floor as Dean was polishing off a burger one of the angels had bought for him.

Dean nodded in greeting and swallowed his mouthful. His brother had been silent and watchful since Esther had been struck down. If Ruby and Meg were anything to go by, Sam had a thing for seeing the good in all people, especially women. Dean got that, he really did. It was hard to hate something that took the guise of something else that had needed to be protected for centuries. But Esther was the enemy. It astounded Dean a little, that Sam could be so protective over them when he'd had practically no feminine influence growing up. How does someone with a cocky older brother and a Dad with half an attention span end up so _good_?

How did someone with demon blood and the fate of becoming a vessel for the cruellest thing in Heaven, Hell, Earth and Purgatory end up so _much better _than Dean?

Dean was proud of Sam. And he could feel himself slipping away. Striking her, the angel, had felt _powerful_. It was a fare stretch away from holding the blade, God, a _universe _away from _using _the damned thing, but it was power despite that. It was now, sitting with his brother in relative safety that he saw that.

"Hey Sam, look..." he trailed off and bunched his hamburger papers into his hand. "You don't...don't feel obliged to...to _watch_, ok?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Watch, what? Esther and you?"

Dean looked up and met his brothers eyes. "Yeah. It's not fair."

Sam nodded slowly. Then he cleared his throat. "Ok. Just...why did you say, when I offered Gadreel's grace, that it was _my _choice?"

Dean didn't answer. He looked down at his hands and the burger in them and no longer felt hungry. No longer felt tired. Only ashamed, embarrassed. God, he was being such a girl.

He could feel Sam's gaze on him. His brother was watching him, two shots hope and three guardedness. "It was just an...odd choice of words."

Dean looked up. "Am I turning into you?"

Sam blinked at the question. "Sorry?"

"I don't mean the hair, or whatever," Dean gestured to his brother and hoped Sam didn't see his hands shaking. "I mean..." _Jesus_. "Ruby. Lilith. The whole energy drink thing."

Sam closed his eyes briefly. Dean was wondering if 'energy drink' was a step too far, but when Sam opened his eyes, he was smiling. "Energy drink?"

Dean smiled a little meekly. "All I could think of."

Sam sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "No, Dean. You're not turning into me."

Dean glanced up sharply and softly frowned. "Wait, what?"

Sam looked at him openly and Dean saw all of it. The boy he'd raised, the boy he could read better than anyone else could read _anyone _in the entire world. Sam looked at him and there was such clear determination, such defiant spark. "I won't _let _you. You would have been there for me. You _were _there for me. Any time I decided to realise that I would have felt less alone. I won't _let it_."

I won't let it. I won't let it consume you, overtake you, _become _you.

Dean smiled, and Dean believed him.

It was in the wee hours of the morning that Esther finally cracked.

"So," Dean said steadily. "What were you doing off on your own, anyway?"

Esther glared up at him. "None of your business, rodent."

"Rodent," Dean nodded. "Good one. So, seriously. You won't spill about Gladys or Daddy, so tell me. C'mon. I won't tell anyone else."

Esther's gaze could have killed. "Scouting mission, if you must know."

"Yeah, see," Dean paced in front of her, holding the angel blade casually in his hand. Esther watched it with silent trepidation. "I don't know if I believe that. For one, you've lied since you got here, and two, someone, or at least some_thing_ would have tried to rescue you by now."

"What if I told you God expects us to get out of our own messes?" Esther hissed.

"What if I told you that Metatron would come looking for you, because he doesn't have enough angels to spare?" Dean countered.

Esther hung her head. She laughed, low and guttural. "Well, that second part is certainly not true."

"Am I gonna have to play Cluedo, or are you gonna spill?" Dean asked, leaning against a wall.

Esther glared at him. "You're a buffoon."

"You're avoiding the question," Dean told her. "You wanna hear what I think? I think Daddy cast you out. I think you're Lucifer 2.0. I think that you did something wrong and now you're being punished."

Dean bent down so that they were face to face. "Am I right?"

She glared at him, with all the strength she had. "_No_."

Dean smiled and moved away from her. "I knew it."

Esther looked desperate. "You're _not_. He _wouldn't_."

"I am, and he did."

Esther tightened her hands into fists. "I will kill you. I swear it."

"No, I don't think you will," Dean said. "Esther. You're terrified. C'_mon_. He's awful and you only served him because it was either with him in Heaven or with the low-lives down here on green-pastured Hell."

Esther didn't say anything.

"You want this to stop? No? You want the world to be ruled by some pretentious _douche _who treats his fellow angels like children?"

Esther sat unmoving.

"You want him to rule earth? You want to be part of the messed up story he's got planned?"

A rock, swamped by sinking moonlight through the window behind her.

"You _actually _want him to be the next _God_? For _all eternity_?"

Esther looked up slowly and Dean saw her imagining what he'd painted for her. Years and years of Metatron as the front-runner. Years of Metatrons word over the initial word of God. Metatron controlling Angels, controlling humans. Maybe, eventually, controlling Hell.

"No," she whispered and looked at Dean. "Oh God. No."

"Drop the act, Esther," Dean advised. "You're way more likable when you're an actual _sane _human being." Dean frowned. "Angel. Whatever."

Esther looked at Dean desperately. "Dean, I help you find Gadreel, you kill me."

Dean frowned. "Kill you?"

"Dead, bam, never coming back."

Dean found himself nodding. "Sister, I think you've got yourself a deal."

* * *

"Why Gadreel?" Sam asked Cas as they sat outside the room where Dean was with Esther. She wasn't screaming, but they could hear muffled conversation from outside the doors. Hopefully it meant they were making some progress. "You hear her. He's not trusted. He's a slave. I can remember. He needs so desperately to go back to heaven, he'd do anything."

Cas looked at Sam a little sadly. "I remember seeing Gadreel when Metatron kidnapped me. He..." Cas hesitated. "He looked like _I _did."

"You did?" Sam asked, bemused. "When?

Cas looked away and towards the far wall. But he was unseeing, locked in memories. "When I was considering disobedience."

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Cas more carefully. "Wait, really?"

"Yes, really," Cas said. "I recognised it. I saw it in Anna before I never saw her again. Until five years ago, of course. I saw it in _myself _when I fought the archangel off from Chuck. When I banished Zachariah. It's not the natural state of an angel, Free Will. It leaves a stain on an angel. You can't ever wash it out and you can never go back."

"But..." Sam thought about Kevin and all the other people dead at the hand of the angel. "_Gadreel_?"

Cas nodded slowly. "It might be hard to believe, but to Gadreel and to every other angel, Metatron is not a just God. He is not even a god. He is an Angel playing as the deity and it's unnatural. Esther was following out of fear-"

"Wait, what?"

"-and I can bet that most of the other angels were as well."

"Esther's one of the half-good guys?" Sam demanded. "What?"

Cas carried on. "Not even Raphael deigned to call himself God. I did, and look where that left me."

"Dead," Sam agreed.

Cas frowned.

"I mean, you _were _dead," Sam corrected hastily. "For a bit. After the god thing."

Cas nodded slowly. "Right. Yes. I was."

Curiosity got the better of him, and it was something Sam had been wondering for a while. "Cas, do you...do you remember what happened after you died?"

"Which time?" Cas asked, which, had it been anyone else, would have probably been an attempt at humour.

Sam shrugged. "All the times."

Cas shook his head. "There's no afterlife for angels and demons, Sam. We're given strength to last in this life."

"You believe that?" Sam asked, unconvinced.

Cas shrugged. "It's what we were always taught."

"Yeah, to keep yourself remembering that you're killable," Sam said. "But, I mean, c'mon. You're source isn't exactly _reliable._"

Cas chuckled softly. "No, no it isn't. I don't know, Sam. I don't know where I go after I die. I don't know where I'll end up."

"You don't have any suspicions?" Sam pressed.

Cas shook his head and sighed. "I just have to hope that it'll be better than here. Better than this world at least."

Sam thought about his heaven, the one he shared with Dean. _Soul mate_. It was so intimate and terrifying that they'd never brought it up again. That Heaven had been full of broken memories and only brought back the knowledge that they'd never feel those sorts of things again. That they'd just live in that world of past tense until the end of eternity.

"Human life is going to feel like the blink of an eye when I'm dead," Sam realised suddenly, and the size of infinity threatened to overwhelm him. "In heaven."

Cas was amazed by Sam Winchester. How sure he was that they'd pull this off, that they'd find some way to restore heaven. He was so full of hope, he was so _human_. "Your human life will not be forgotten, Sam," Cas assured him. "it'll be your clearest, most prized possession."

Sam looked young, younger than Cas had ever seen him when he looked at the angel. "You're sure?" His voice was weak, pathetic perhaps. Say it once, say it a thousand times. Sam Winchester was so _human_.

"Positive," Cas said, without a moments hesitation.

Human. Sam Winchester was _human_. Not the Boy with the Demon Blood. Not the vessel for Lucifer. Not abomination or _Monster _or _freak. _He was a boy with a brother and the whole world on his shoulders.

* * *

Esther had promised that Gadreel was going to be in LA in two days. He was to put up sigils attracting angels and then slaughter all of them as a job for Metatron. He seemed to have to do that sort of thing a lot, Sam reflected. It didn't line up with the bruised, tattered angel he remembered possessing him.

In the Impala, Dean and Sam were going alone and Cas and his angels would drive over in a mini-van. Neither brother had been able to keep a straight face when they watched all the angels of the lord clamber into the back of a bus and set off across the country.

They'd burnt Esther's and let the ashes float across through the wind.

Dean drove. Dean always drove, but Dean was also exhausted. The two brothers took turns sleeping and driving, only stopping for Gas, food and Nature's call. Sam huddled into his seat as soon as they got into the car and Dean woke him six hours later, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Sam drove next, a solid 10 hours before they took a break and Dean wanted back in to the drivers seat.

Then they were alone and awake. Sam wasn't tired enough yet to fall asleep and Dean was hypnotised by the road running in front of them, nodding his head along to the music playing.

"_I say, a bad moon arisin', I say, troubles on the way._"

Dean glanced over at Sam and sighed. "Look, Sam...I just want you to know that...I'm _sorry, _ok?"

Sam felt himself pause, rewind and scan through Dean's words. Sorry? Finally, was he saying sorry? Was he sure, though? Did he deserve more? Did he deserve a _why_?

"_Don't go out tonight, it's bound to take your life._"

"It wasn't my choice to make," Dean said slowly. "I should have..." _Let you go._

Sam shook his head. "No, it wasn't your choice-"

"But," Dean looked over sharply. "Just because I regret it _does not _make it ok that you wanted to die, Sammy."

Sam looked down and his voice dropped. "I was going to save the world forever, Dean."

"I'm not talking about that," Dean insisted. "_Where is the upside to me being alive_. You remember that?"

Sam didn't say anything.

"I thought so."

"_I say, Hurricanes are blowin'. I know, the end is comin' soon."_

"Sammy," Dean looked over at his brother desperately. "You _deserve _to be alive, alright? You deserve it more than _anyone_."

"No," Sam shook his head. "No I _don't _Dean."

Dean let out an exasperated breath. "What, you forgot that you already saved the world? You forgot that you already made up for all the shit you were manipulated into doing? You _have_ Sam. You've done _enough_. You're allowed to be selfish."

"Me not dying means that a lot of other people died," Sam stated calmly. "Abaddon has been farming souls. Abaddon has been _making an army _out of souls and _I could have stopped her_."

"Hey," Dean snapped. "This is not on you, Sam. You've done too much good to blame yourself for this."

"_Hope you have got your things together, hope you are quite prepared to die._"

"I..." Sam was silent then, for a long stretch, just looking out the window as they drove. "I'm sorry I told you...those things."

_Drag through the mud... you are certianly willing to do the sacrificing as long as you're not the one being hurt_

Gadreel and Sam's words overlapped and Dean felt all the pain and misery over it like it had just happened.

"I was trying to level with you, but it was cruel. And excessive."

Dean watched the road for a few minutes an didn't speak. Then he smiled.

"Bitch."

Sam's heart rate picked up and he tried to look nonchalant, glancing over at his brother like his world hadn't just been made. "Jerk."

Dean leant forward and turned up the volume and the car sped on, chasing down Gadreel, finishing this once and for all.

"_Don't go out tonight, it's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise."_

* * *

_My aim was to make it as realistic as possible, but this, as of Tuesday, is an AU *everyone cries*_

_I'll try to do the next few chapters as episodes, episode length as well. Swell._

_(I thought I might do something funny like instead of Dark Moon Rising I could have gone like *NETFLIX VERSION and then spelt out the words to Back on the Road Again or something but no that would have been way too weird.)_


	2. All That Glitters is Gold

_So I'm officially not-canon. Crying hysterically. Anyway, I'm gonna continue and then maybe cast off into season ten, still in this AU or with more canonical evidence, I'm not sure. RIP Abby, right? Ugh, she was such a good villain. At least we had her for a good two seasons, which is more than we got for Lilith (my actual number one). _

_Any-old-who, I'm off. Enjoy!_

"_You named_

_it after me_

_but I'm not yours to keep_

_because_

_you'll never see_

_that the stars are free."_

-Marina and the Diamonds, _Buy the Stars_

* * *

Metatron liked a lot of things. He liked being in charge, he liked the ferocity of lady werewolves and the softness of the neieds, he liked killing nephilim and cutting his name in the world with an iron fist and a collection of tablets that probably would have been better left unfound. But most of all, Metatron liked an engaging plot. Characters that moved you and span you in circles you didn't expect. When Edgar Ellen Poe had written the first real mystery, he'd been enthralled. What would happen next? Where was the letter? Was the queen truly an adulteress? After that, they got steadily better. Agatha Christe had always tickled his fancy. Poiroit and Ms. Marple being his two favourite leading characters. Intrigue, suspense, all the clues pointing one way but the decision ending up another. Enticing stuff.

He liked making assumptions, he _liked_ being lead one way , the Governess, the Chimney Sweep, and then being torn in the other direction, the warm hearted gentleman, the smiling old woman across the street. He liked suspense and change and intensity. He liked all of it.

Except when he didn't.

Metatron didn't need to sleep. He was an angel, nearly God, after all, and he nearly constantly wrote on his story. On Castiel and the Winchesters, on the chronicles that would wipe the Winchester Gospels out of existence. He normally strode around, thinking about how he would entrap the Winchesters this time, or how he would tear at the tender heart of Castiel, until he'd come up with a plot point and then happily sat down on his type-writer, keeping careful tabs on the earth below, watching as what he wrote became law.

Except when it didn't.

Metatron strode into his study with a glass of whiskey in one hand and the other clutching a muffin that he would pick to crumbs, brushing them along his desk as he struggled with the next surge of the plot. When would he kill of Hannah? She'd become suddenly important to Castiel and the Winchesters. What about the Trans? Would he turn Kevin vengeful, make him kill his own mother? Charlie? Would she make a reappearance, or would he leave her to wander Oz, companion to Dorothy? Or would he bring her back, place her in the careful hands of his new surrogate family, and then kill her off as well?

Crowley? What was happening with that bastard? When was he going to fall? And Abaddon? He honestly liked her tactics, her bright red lips and her careful war plan. Her chaos. She was appropriately Hell. A fearful enemy.

But now he sat and he looked to earth. Gadreel had set up the Horn of Gabriel (who's owner had long passed out of existence, killed by his own brother trying to save the Winchesters) and everything was going according to plan.

Except it wasn't.

_Free Will _called out to him like a beacon, like a towering lighthouse.

Metatron scrambled for the script and read through it, pacing again and again over what he had written.

_Because they'll take the script, and they'll tear it up. Because that's what they do. That's what they'll always do._

_And you can't stop them._

* * *

The Mark of Cain was a physical manifestation of the itch that the blade actually was, a turbulent, all too constant ache and _crack _on Dean's psyche. Every waking second, it was always at the back of his mind, the fear, the violence, the _power_; all rocked up into one half-assed jaw bone. Sam couldn't know, and Sam _didn't _know how utterly entranced he was by the thing. Sure, if Dean had been a few years wiser and little less on the internalized side, he might remember Sam's demon fiasco to a greater extent than he had. He might see himself in his brothers place, the demon on his shoulder dressed a little better, with a British accent and no hidden lack of regard for the human of its choice's safety, but everything was spelt out the same.

Maybe he wouldn't feel so hopeless. Sam had conquered it, hadn't he? Found his ground and _pushed. _To be fair, he'd had a reset button pressed when God or whoever had zapped them back into that plane after the Lucifer Rising special, but Dean hadn't known that it was still there, today. That it trembled at the back of his brothers mind, that it haunted him, that he'd never be rid of it. That addiction. At least with Dean there was the hope that one day it would be removed, that he'd pass it on, that the power and the fear and the weird strength.

But he threw it on the back-burner. Because they were nearly with Gadreel, and Metatron, as dumpy and stupid as he looked, was the front-runner of their problems at the moment. A never ending list of problems. And the damned mark just added some more weight to the package. Hopefully all of it would be worth it.

"Dean," Sam's voice. His anchor. Right? That's what happened at Magnussen's house. _Drop the blade. Dean. _"You right?"

_Drop the blade. _Dean shook himself and made sure that Sam didn't see him treating the Marked arm any more carefully than his other. "Fine. Dandy. When are we going in?"

"Soon," Sam whispered back, glancing around to where the other angels were readying themselves at the exits.

Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes and glanced up at his brother. Night had well and truly fallen by now and the worry lines only elongated in the low light, shadows cast across Sam's face like he was ten years older and a thousand miles away from where they were. "You ready?"

A steely look of determination took over the worry and Sam nodded, setting his jaw and looking adamantly to the ground, sticking his courage. "Yeah. Yeah I'm ready."

Cas appeared behind Sam, creeping through the dark like he had gotten his wings back. The angel was still wearing the weird new trench-coat and his bright blue eyes dimmed in the darkness.

Dean glared. "Jesus, Cas! Some warning, next time?"

"I thought the idea was to be silent," Cas said, frowning. "We do not want to alert Gadreel to our presence."

"Won't he know we're here anyway?" Sam asked.

Cas shook his head, glancing around to where the rest of the angels were ready."He will sense angels and assume that the horn of Gabriel is working. I would not be surprised if it were. It is quite..." he grimaced and glanced, half longingly and half sickened toward the centre of the warehouse. "Unnerving."

"Fair enough," Dean stated, glancing around and seeing Hannah and Romeo ready at their entrance. They weren't talking, but stood shoulder to shoulder. It jarringly occurred to Dean that this angel had killed their friends, their siblings, right in front of their eyes. "Everyone else good to go?"

Cas nodded. "As soon as you are."

Dean glanced to Sam. "You right, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed but nodded. "Yeah." He glanced at Cas hesitantly. "N...Now?"

Cas nodded. "As soon as you can. Time is of the essence."

Sam blinked a little before moving closer to the door and placing his hand on the wood. "Right. Yeah." He looked back and met both of their eyes for a second before taking a deep breath. "Wish me luck, right?"

"Don't need it," Dean assured him. "Everything'll be fine."

Sam nodded again, gave himself a moment and pushed through the door and entering the dark, abandoned building. The entrance snapped closed after he had disappeared through it.

Cas and Dean watched that space for a few minutes. Dean found his hands clenched, his eyes hard in his head, staring dead ahead.

_Please, please; _like a song, around and around in his head.

Cas noticed his friends discomfort. "He'll be fine, Dean."

Dean nodded, his jaw following the familiar line, up and down. Cas wasn't convinced though and cast his eyes heavenward, looking towards the skies, the stars, and wondering where it had all gone so wrong.

* * *

_"Sam? Absolutely not."_

_"Dean. Come on, there's no other way."_

_"Not like this, Sammy. You could die."_

_"I could die anyway."_

_"Well, yeah. Thanks. Especially with that attitude."_

_"Can you please try and be reasonable for three minutes?"_

_"No."_

_"This could be _everything_, c'mon."_

_"I'm not letting my brother go in there alone."_

_"I won't be going anywhere alone. You'll be five seconds away."_

_"No."_

_"Let me do this."_

_"No."_

_"Dean. It is the only way."_

_"Cas, tell your second in command to shut her damn trap."_

_"Don't talk to her like that."_

_"She's saying we send Sam to the front line!"_

_"_Everyone_ is saying I go out first. It's the best way."_

_"No."_

_"It's _my choice_."_

_"I-"_

_"Don't you dare say that you don't care."_

_"I wasn't going to."_

_"Good."_

_"The answers still no."_

_"_Dean_! Please, man."_

* * *

Sam strode through the warehouse like he was supposed to be there. His hands shook though, and his feet ached to turn heel and sprint back to where he'd come from, to his brother and Cas and safety. The building was on its last legs, rickety and shaky and coming down around itself. Sam's boots tread through water and dust and his breath hissed through dust and howling whirls of dirt. The wood creaked and the cement was littered with graffiti.

_Woe All Who Enter Passed This Point_, some kid trying to be clever and unique had scrawled out in big red letters. Sam glared at it and trudged passed, trying not to look back at it, trying not to picture a demon, eyes glazed with madness, slitting open their wrists and painting the message in gore and pain. Tried not to give it any weight at all.

The darkness prickled at the back of Sam's spine and sent him shooting suspicious glances into rooms.

"Sam Winchester," the voice jarred at him, not because it was the voice he'd heard purring away in his subconscious whenever he recalled the months as an angels bitch, but because of the tone, the lilt around his name, the eyes, wide and careful as they took in their old vessel.

Sam looked around and saw Gadreel, in the vessel that he had first been in, the vessel he'd picked up immediately after falling to earth. Not all vessels were strong, and he was lucky he'd gotten one so quickly. He was luckier that the next one had been a Winchester and luckier still that he was still alive, despite having tricked the brothers.

Sam stared at him coldly. Not alive for much longer. "You still remember me, then?"

Gadreel smiled a little. "Do you greet all previous possessors in that way?"

Sam's face was unmoving. _Kevin. All those angels and their vessels. Tricked Dean. _He ignored the other pounding thoughts, him healing Sam, saving Charlie, Cas, fighting off Abaddon's demons. He had done that to keep up appearances. Nothing more. "No."

Gadreel dropped his smile and looked at Sam more keenly. "Why are you here, Sam? You brought the angel, didn't you. Castiel? He found the heart of the Horn of Gabriel and followed me here."

Sam didn't feel like lying, so he stiffly inclined his head.

"Interesting," Gadreel closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "I feel him, and other angels are nearing. The Horn calls them all. Why are you here, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. The angel blade hidden up his sleeve fell into his hand. "To kill you."

* * *

_"Why? Don't you think I'll be able to handle it?"_

_"Of course not! No one could handle this!"_

_"It's one angel."_

_"So?"_

_"So, I can take him."_

_"No, not this angel, Sammy."_

_"What, you think I'm just gonna fly off and kill him or something?"_

_"Yes. That's exactly what I think."_

_"Fuck off, Dean."_

_"Sam, be reasonable. You don't exactly have the best track record."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Does 'Jake' ring a bell? That Crossroads Demon? Hell man, you thrive on confrontation."_

_"Don't say that. Don't say that and give me two examples."_

_"Sam, your brother does have a point."_

_"No, not you too, Cas. You know that this is the only way."_

_"Cas, seriously?"_

_"Sam's right, Dean. We have to trust him."_

_"Yeah. I've damn well earned it."_

* * *

"Other angels are coming," Gadreel said, eyeing the blade slowly. "They see you attacking me, who are they going to help?"

"I don't care," Sam bit, hating how much emotion was stealing into his words. "You've ruined _everything_."

"That was your brother," Gadreel reminded him, urged him. "He talked you off the edge of the cliff, not me. He was the one that let you in, not me."

"You tricked him," Sam snapped. "You made him believe that you were truly there to help."

Gadreel faltered. "At...at the time. I was."

Sam pulled back. "What?"

"Metatron approached me when I was already possessing you," Gadreel said.

Sam shook his head. "You sent Cas away to save your own hide. You really think I'm gonna believe that was heroic behaviour?"

"They do not understand," Gadreel spat bitterly, he couldn't meet Sam's eyes. "None of them. He would have seen me for who I was an casted me out of you. There was no other choice."

"There _were _other choices," Sam hissed. "Dean didn't know-"

"Who I was, yes?" Gadreel pressed, finishing Sam's sentence. He looked at Sam eagerly, like he'd found a flaw in his argument. "But he called off to Castiel as soon as I made contact with him. Castiel would not have allowed me to come near you, nor your brother."

Sam's lip curled and he looked at Gadreel in disgust. "You are hearing yourself, right? Our friendly, _trusted _angel would have given alarm to a dangerous and _treasonous _angel, and you think that we'd be wrong to back off?"

"I served my time," Gadreel assured him sourly, his jaw held tightly. "I served _more _than my time. I let a lonely traveller into Eden. You call me a fool, perhaps I was. Naive and young. But Lucifer was not always bad. He was the angel of light and music."

"Yeah, don't worry, Luci and I are tight," Sam snarled.

Gadreel suddenly paused and looked at Sam slowly. "Did he ever speak of me, Lucifer?"

Sam swallowed and felt venom control burning behind his eyes. "I don't know, you tell me. You were inside me for all those months, right?"

"I would not pry on that part of your life."

Sam clenched his hand tighter around the Angel Blade. "Wow. Very decent of you. I'll write it right up next to 'lied about his name' and 'doomed humanity for all time'."

Gadreel watched Sam sharply. "I am not the only one who lead the snake to humanity."

Sam stiffened and looked at him dead in the eye. "Don't you _dare-_"

"You thought you were doing it for noble reasons, yes?" Gadreel pressed, looking desperate, eyes flicking to Sam's. "You thought you were ridding the world of a great evil."

"And I _payed _for it," Sam said, like it was scripted, like he didn't really believe the words he was saying. "For _years_-"

"And so did _I_, Sam," Gadreel pleaded. "Look at us. We are not that different. Your body was clean as my vessel. It was true. We are akin spirits."

Sam's face turned cold. "We aren't. I'd _never _possess someone, take advantage of someone...not like you did."

"Perhaps," Gadreel inclined. "But our lives both have been devoted to trying to fix things that we did. We spend all our lives trying to be forgiven. Me? By my superiors, by my brothers and sisters, but you? Sam, I have seen you, seen the depths of your _self-hatred_, you need to forgive _yourself_."

"I _have _forgiven myself."

"Stop lying," Gadreel told him, not harshly, but steadily. "You haven't. You probably never will, not in your waking years. You fix Heaven, you die, and you'll blame yourself up there as well."

Sam relaxed suddenly. He'd been counting, over and over in his head, one to 60, rhythmic and slow, a steady beat of seconds leading to a minute. "That's five."

"What's five?" Gadreel asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Five minutes."

"For what?"

* * *

_"I promise. Jesus."_

_"Ok, ok, I'm just checkin'."_

_"Chill, Dean. I can distract him. No big deal. I'll just debrief him on his stay."_

_"Don't be a bitch, Sam."_

_"Don't be a jerk, Confundo."_

* * *

Castiel, of course, had been confused to why they had been smiling.

But now he walked next to Beatrice, laying down the holy oil tentatively, making sure that the little they had was enough to make the distance and also thick enough that they could light a fire long enough to trap Gadreel. It was tedious and slow and they triple checked every corner and crevice, dried every puddle and smoothed out every mound of dirt. Cas had said five minutes, but he was worried it would take longer.

"Hurry up, man," Dean pressed urgently, eyes flicking constantly towards the warehouse, where his brother was alone and Gadreel prowled, the Horn of Gabriel beating faintly on the wall.

"We are working as fast as we can, Dean," Castiel shot him an annoyed glance. Then he softened. "Sam will be fine. Angels have a tendency to form soft spots for their old vessels."

Dean glanced at Cas. "This angel ain't really the _normal _type, though. I mean, he did lie to us, use us, use _Sam_, trick us into believing he was on the good side and then, wow ok this one's a doozy, _killed Kevin_."

"He brought me back to life, healed Charlie, saved Sam," Castiel shrugged. "He has done much for you and for us. I feel like we shouldn't so easily dismiss him as evil."

"Commander?" Beatrice looked up at him, holding her vase of holy oil dejectedly. "We're out again."

Cas nodded and passed her another vase, picking up his spot behind her, either leg straddling the line as he made sure that he had not missed a spot.

Dean hissed in frustration and tugged freely at the Mark of Cain. "I just wish this was _over_."

Cas looked up at his friend and smiled softly.

* * *

_"Holy fires a bitch to get your hands on."_

_"Thanks for that, Dean."_

_"No, Sam, your brother's right. We don't have much in our stores."_

_"We have some."_

_"Not much, though."_

_"What do you think, Hannah?"_

_"I think we can do it. We'll be cutting it close to the line, though."_

_"Five minutes?"_

_"I can distract him for five minutes."_

_"I dunno."_

_"Dean! Seriously?"_

_"Fine."_

* * *

"Sam Winchester," Gadreel spoke slowly and deliberately, glaring down at the younger brother. "What have you done?"

"You killed Kevin, you son of a bitch," Sam said coldly, and his resolve didn't shake. "There's a lot more I would have liked to have done."

Somewhere, outside, Dean flicked on his old lighter, the one he'd found crammed down the back of the Impala from a few weeks ago. He'd held it tightly in his hand and remembered holding it in Heaven. He held it tightly and thought about Sam and all that had gone wrong.

But now he held it with determined ease. His hand slung easily around it like it had been born with him, like Dean had come charging out with John's old leather jacket and Sammy's necklace, hand clasped around a small square of silver. He flicked the cap off, sparked the flame and dropped it into the oil.

His face warmed by the growing yellow flames, and it seared alone the path they'd woven precariously. In his pocket, five minutes and twenty seconds before they'd finished with the oil, Sam had pressed his fingers into his pocket and sent a text.

Dean hadn't had to text back.

* * *

The angels hadn't been able to go through the flames, edging away from it, the spell of Gabriel's Horn waned when it was brought up against a deterrent like that. Hannah and the others, who'd seen Gadreel cut down legions of angels watched with unease and unbridled hatred. All the while, the flames burned on.

Dean walked through the warehouse like Sam had, except where his brother had had to act like he knew exactly where he was supposed to be, Dean knew for sure. His feet scoffed extra loud on the ground and he moved along the same path as Sam had, following his brothers footsteps through the dark, a small cruel smile on his lips.

He saw Sam before he saw Gadreel, and it was a good thing as well, because he would have stopped, dumbfounded, when he saw Gadreel as he was. Instead he walked forward, nearing his little brother.

"Find him, then?" Dean asked, drawing closer.

"Better," Sam turned and kicked toward a crumpled body.

Dean stopped short and stared up at Sam. "You killed him." It was a statement, devoid of judgement or congratulations, devoid of anything.

Sam shook his head and raised his eyebrow. "Don't you have any trust in me? God. No. Angels, they can be knocked out. Fun to know, right?"

Dean watched Sam with a new sort of respect. "Damn. Yeah, it is. How hard you have to hit?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, flexing his right hand. "Hard enough."

* * *

"We need to save this," Castiel begged, sitting opposite a shackled Gadreel at home base later that day, the angel having been bound and driven across the countryside, banging angrily on the roof of the boot when he came to and then refusing to speak since he'd been brought out of the car.

Gadreel didn't bring up any words now, only glaring steadily at Cas through murderous eyes. He sat across from Cas's bed on the seat the motel had place in his room and Cas sat on the edge of the bed, looking earnestly into his brothers eyes.

"Brother, _please_," Cas pleaded again. He gestured outside. "How many more angels have to die? How many more peaceful angels are going to be forced to fight? Why does this war come, Gadreel? When we can stop it? Angel, fighting angel...you know, as well as I. This _has _to stop."

"You've killed angels," Gadreel finally broke his silence and watched Castiel through the same, burning eyes. "Murdered your own. Betrayed heaven. Became _God_."

Cas found the words oddly fitting to have been the ones that came out after all those hours of silence. "I did. And it is with this that I am trying to repent."

"Penance," Gadreel spat. "Then we are more alike than you think. Why do you suppose I joined Metatron? His rule is final, he is the modern era for angels and for demons and for man. He is the future and it is with him that I can finally redeem _myself_, Castiel. From who else do you suppose I will receive such a luxury?"

"Me," Cas stated easily. "And the angels that follow me."

"The angels that follow you have hatreds buried so deep that they can do nothing but be slaves to it," Gadreel stated factually, with no small amount of bitterness. "They will not take to me. Not if you ask them. You are an angel, not if you command it. Metatron is god." Gadreel nodded slowly, as if he was convinced, as if he were _entirely _on board. If not for the doubt. If not for the questions. "They will follow him. They will forgive me if _he _commands it."

"The angels that fell to earth?" Cas stated. "You know them? You know of what they did. They aren't warriors, Gadreel. They have seen Humans only from afar. They are administration. They are carers. They do not deserve what Metatron did to them. They don't deserve to die like they are."

"Metatron is rebuilding Heaven," Gadreel stated, reluctantly moved by Cas's words. Cas took this as a sign, a hopeful sign, that there was still some goodness in the angel that sat across from them, still reason for belief in his rise to their side of this war. "He is fixing everything. Reviving the truths and cleaning out all that had gone wrong."

"Souls aren't getting into heaven," Cas snarled. "_Souls _are floating around in _Limbo_. Don't _tell _me you believe that this is just. Don't tell me you believe that this is _honourable._ Heaven was made for humans, _we _were made to serve Heaven. Don't you see where the problem is? Why you must conform to us? Why Metatron ruling for _all eternity _would severely _screw _up the rest of forever?"

And it seemed to hit Gadreel, like it had hit Esther, that this, this was _it_. Metatron, their new father, swaying in the heavens, writing his stupid scripts over and _over _again until _forever_.

"I'll leave you," Cas stated heavily, standing and sighing, moving to the doorway and pressing his hand around the cool metal of the handle. He paused and glanced back, where Gadreel was watching the floor softly, eyes tracing the designs inscribed into the cheap carpet.

Then he turned, opened the door, and left the angel, imprisoned for so many years, suffering so many tortures, to suffer waiting for a few moments more.

* * *

"What do we do with him?" Sam asked as Cas joined he and Dean in the motel room they'd picked out. The owner looked at them tiredly and suspiciously, like he was three more weird, wayward strangers checking into his out-of-the-way, out-of-date, out-of-style motel. But he checked them in as the Jones brothers and hadn't made a move to call the authorities. Which would have been pretty awkward. Considering that the Winchester brothers were supposed to be dead.

"Leave him," Cas shrugged. He was sitting on the chair, similar to the point of hilarity to the one Gadreel was shackled to and the Winchesters sat on their respective beds, Sam on the left, Dean spread out on the right. "He will come around. He is a good angel, deep down, and he feels like he must repay the world in order to come back to it."

"He did kind of doom humanity for all eternity," Dean frowned, glancing at Sam, who's bemused and irritated expression conveyed the same sentiment.

"We should kill him," Sam muttered, casting his eyes down, not wanting to see Cas's reproachful, knowing eyes. "Put the son of a bitch out of his misery."

Cas wasn't mad, he was patient. He'd learnt a lot in the years that he'd known the Winchester's, learnt a lot when he was a human. Humans, they err and they fail and they fall, but all the while they are trying the best they can. Perhaps they lose the sight of this, the light. Perhaps they fall too far to be held, to be brought back, but no one man is born evil. No one human is born a murderer or a rapist.

_Empathy_, Cas thought. _That's what that is. _That slinky, shivering goodness that he'd first felt when he'd possessed Jimmy and then in terrifying clarity when he'd lost his angel grace and returned to earth lost and alone. _The most promising ingredient to world peace._

"We can't kill him, Sam," Cas said. "We kill him and war starts. War on a scale unheard of. We averted Michael and Lucifer, but this...this could be almost as bad."

Sam was silent and Dean watched his younger brother with a still sort of unease.

"Well," Dean said, his brightness sarcasm. "Can you leave so I can sleep?"

Cas nodded. "Yes, I should get back to Gadreel anyway. He is sturdy and hard to crack, but I'll get there in the end."

"Sweet," Dean lay back and closed his eyes, head pressed firmly into the middle of his pillow.

Sam glanced over at his brother and rolled his eyes. He looked at Cas and his eyes turned pleading. That puppy dog, _please, oh please_, look that seemed to work on everyone.

_Oh no_, Cas unconsciously drew back a few millimetres.

"Can I question Gadreel?" Sam asked, softly, like it was _ok _to say no, that he wouldn't be disappointed, that it was _ok_-

"Sam, go get laid or something," Dean growled, eyes still closed, impervious to his brothers wide pleading eyes.

Sam blinked them off and scowled. "Wow, thanks Dean."

"I'll be off," Cas stated awkwardly, standing and then shuffling out of the room, closing the door behind him and breathing a sigh of relief as he stood outside their room.

Sam Winchester knocked Gadreel out because they needed to capture him. It had been hours and for most of it, all he'd given had been silence. Now? Now all Sam needed was a blade.

* * *

Sam drew his jacket around him and entered into the drop-out bar on the outskirts of town with hunched shoulders. It was their usual haunt, pool tables and breasty waitresses who leant over to pick things up for tips, and male bar-hands watching the scene pass by with deadened eyes. There was cheap whiskey in it's expensive cousins bottle and beer that had probably had it's brewery mates served when John Winchester had whizzed through 15 years ago.

Sam glanced around and breathed it in, the stale bar nuts and sweet tang of spilt beer and let it out slowly. It all rushed back at him, on his laptop looking for Dad, trying to get Azazel for what he did to Jess, researching other children whose mother had died in a house fire when they'd been six months old, tracking down a way to combat a demon deal, tracking Lilith, Ruby perched over his shoulder, her perfume stinging his throat. Then there was how to prevent anyone from ever being a vessel, his methodical, cruel research when he'd been soulless, then the Leviathan fiasco and everything, right up until they'd found the bunker.

It wasn't that Sam didn't like having a home base, didn't like having somewhere he knew he could stay, only having to worry about one person if he'd forgotten to bring clothes to the bathroom. Where he could cook in the kitchen, where Dean could cook for him, where he could stretch out and run his fingers along the spines of books collected by the Men of Letters. It was nice and it was warm down there, it felt safe, like the world had finally done them a solid.

It didn't mean he didn't like it when everything was easier. When all that was on them was their Dad and Jess and their mom, when the world seemed too large for one person to carry.

_Well_, Sam thought bitterly, sitting down at the bar and signalling to the Bar tender to pass him a beer. _I showed myself, didn't I?_

It was so easy to be bitter, with Gadreel getting off free for what he'd done to them, with Cas so _willing _to forgive. Sam breathed in, thought and thought, and breathed out, and tried to be a better person.

Forgiving Gadreel would come, he knew it would. There was nothing irredeemable, no person so wretched they couldn't fight for a way to come back. Gadreel had struck a chord with Sam when he'd said that they were similar. Because he was right. They were similar. They were almost exactly the same.

"Wow, you look terrible," it was a barmaid that told him, matter-of-factly, passing him his beer and wincing slightly. "Man, when was the last time you got some _sleep_?"

Sam took in the sweet-faced blonde opposite him and thought back. "Ah...a while."

"Shit, yeah," she nodded. Then she paused and narrowed her eyes. "Hey, you're not on anything, are you?"

"Wait, what?" Sam said, taken aback. He shook his head. "No. No way. Never."

"Ah, good," she said, relaxing her shoulders and running a damp cloth over the bar in front of him absently. "Cause then I'd have to kick you out. Cal hates druggies."

"That's $12 whiskey in a Johnny Walker bottle," Sam raised his eyebrow and gestured behind her.

She laughed and nodded. "Yeah, well, let it be said that the man has a way of seeing the world." She smiled to herself and then stuck out her hand. "Kelly."

Sam clasped it in his and shook it. "Sam. Hi."

"Hey," she said. "Probably should have covered that one at the start, right?"

Sam nodded and smiled. "Probably." He downed a mouthful of beer and she hung around. He didn't want to be rude, but he also wanted to know what she was doing still hanging around him. He was dealing with the end of the world and trying to drown his sorrows spelt out in DEAN and GADREEL out of the bottom of a cheap bottle of beer. He preferred to do that sort of splurging on his own.

She glanced up shyly. "So, Sam, waiting for a girlfriend or something?"

_Ah. Damn it. _"No, not waiting for anyone. Just kinda wanted to be alone." Sam hoped she would take the massive, in your face, pretty rude hint, but she didn't, she just brightened and beamed at him.

"Awesome, more for me," Kelly said, smiling flirtatiously at him, moving away to serve another customer.

Sam dropped his shoulders and nearly groaned. Now he was going to have to leave, going to have to run away and buy lots of more expensive booze at the bar in town. At least there he'd be alone.

Kelly placed another beer in front of him and winked. "On the house."

* * *

"Gadreel, we are trying to _help _you," Cas begged, almost yelling, pacing in front of the bedraggled angel. "So _please, _please help us."

"It would be cowardly," Gadreel stated evenly. "It would be _wrong _to betray Metatron. After all he has done for me. He deserves more than what I have given him. For giving me a second chance."

"I would in a _heartbeat_, and I wouldn't make you _kill _to prove it!" Cas snarled.

"And look at you, Castiel!" Gadreel's voice rose to meet Cas's. "You run the tiniest portion of this war, you lead a band of _administrators _and _scribes_. Metatron has warriors, he is constructing Legions. What are you to stop him? What is anyone? I cast my lot in with the winning side, the side that will still hold my esteem high after this is over. Metatron asked payment and you ask for nothing, and you ask why I don't trust you?"

_What happened to him_, Cas reflected worriedly. _All those years trapped and tortured. Give much, take little_.

"That is not how I see the world, Gadreel," Cas stated calmly. "Forgiveness is not a currency, killing is not something you can trade in for a higher purchase. There is _generosity _and _goodness _in this world. So much it _dwarfs _even the highest angel. Metatron is using your ignorance against you, your belief in the flawed ways of the system."

"He isn't."

"He _is_, Gadreel," Cas sighed, running a hand over his face. "You want forgiveness? You think that the angels trapped on earth will thank you for trapping and killing them? You think that Metatron will protect you from the _sheer hatred _that will come your way if you continue to betray them?"

"They will not forgive me anyway," Gadreel stated steadily. "Metatron's power is _protection _from that."

"So you'd prefer to be feared?" Cas asked slowly. "Feared as Metatron's right hand man? You know what fear does, Gadreel? It shuts people down, one by one. Until there's one person, one _angel_, demon, monster, _human_, whichever. And they will _fight _back. You're not asking for forgiveness. You're lying to yourself. You're lying to _me_. You want fear and death and chaos."

Gadreel was breathing heavily, if angels could lose power of their lungs, Cas would suspect that that was what happening. He was panicking. The truth, bundled together and bashed into your mind, is a harsh way to take reality.

Cas looked down at him and a great sadness overtook the General Angel. Because this man, this angel, this creation of God, he was flawed and severe and wronged, but he had so much potential, so much to achieve. But here he sat, reacting to Cas's words exactly as he had hoped he wouldn't. He hoped he would look him in the eye and helped him, not fought against himself.

Gadreel, perhaps, was proof of flaw beyond repair.

"You have not changed, Gadreel," Cas told him, shaking his head, and preparing to take leave from the renegade angel again. "And the stories, they are _all _true."

* * *

"Hey, ginormo," Dean tapped Gadreel on the shoulder. Gadreel perked up, out of his severely deep reverie. He saw Dean standing over him, hand clasped around an angel blade, with the same tempo and rhythm as the one Sam had been holding. Dean smiled when Gadreel met his eyes.

Gadreel pulled back a little, away from Dean's too close face and as far back in the chair as he could. He worked his jaw and nodded slowly. "So you have been the one sent to kill me after all."

Dean pulled back and shook his head. "Nah. Cas doesn't know I'm here."

Gadreel looked up with more interest now. He studied Dean's face carefully and saw the smile, the one he'd noticed as soon as Dean had made his appearance notable, was that it was small, forced and _cruel_. "Why are you here, Dean?"

"Remember how," Dean started, the angel blade hanging impossibly lose in his hands, impossibly natural. Gadreel studied the human across from him curiously. How did a man become so proficient with a weapon of Heaven? "I told you I was going to make you pay for what you did to him?"

Gadreel shifted and his chains clinked together. "I had assumed you'd already done that."

Dean's smile dropped and he looked Gadreel dead in the eye. "You used him to kill Kevin, you used _him _in ways _beyond _messed up. You, my lovely, angelic _dick_, can _never _pay for what you did."

"So it is to be torture, then?" Gadreel asked feeling his face fall into the familiar grooves, sending himself to the familiar place. A place where he could hide, control himself, a presence deep, deep down inside of himself. He'd been tortured for all eternity. He could take whatever this human had to dish up. "I'm disappointed Dean, I expected more."

"You were tortured your whole life, right?" Dean asked, handling the angel blade between both hands, weighing is and bouncing it up and down on his palms. "You ever meet someone called Alastair?"

Gadreel watched Dean warily, closing his eyes. "Yes."

"So, me and Ally, we were tight," Dean said, and Gadreel could hear the pain in his voice, under years and years of denial and suffering. It hid, it hissed at him, like the Snake had, with false promises, all those years ago. "Real tight. Bffls, right? And he told me, when I was on the rack, to help him or take another day of it. The torture, that is."

Gadreel did not react beyond taking a long slow breath.

Dean glanced over at him. Gadreel could see the forced nonchalance, the forced looseness of his stature. Everything about himself was being thought about, thought carefully about. Gadreel saw him putting on a show, saw how scared and small he was. Sam, he would sacrifice himself for Dean, in a second. In an instant. If it meant Dean to survive, to live on and find the hope that he had. He had suspected that Dean had done something, something that helped him survive the trials, no matter how messed up he had been. But he didn't press it. Because he remembered when Dean had been going to die, when he'd been going to Hell, and he'd offered a solution. The spell with the man who'd lived forever, immortality served in science and magic. But Dean had refused, and Sam hadn't pushed it. Sam had found himself thinking about that a lot, that day, that terrifying year, when Gadreel had been possessing him.

It was curious, to Gadreel, how he could focus so diligently on the one thing, the one promise that _no, Dean wouldn't do that _or _if he did do something, it would have been entirely safe, medical. No messing around with Demon Deals, or witches._

Ah yes, Sam had worried that Dean had sold his soul again. For him. As if Sam didn't feel bad enough that he hadn't finished the final trial and slammed the gates of hell forever.

"Anyway," Dean continued. "For-"

"I lied, Dean," Gadreel said quietly.

"Excuse me?" Dean glared across the room. "What, about knowing Alastair? Because that's not all that _important _right now, pal, and-"

"About Sam," Gadreel stated slowly. "About dying for you."

_You're my brother. And I'd die for you._

Dean watched him slowly, the 30 something year old looking small and almost childish before Gadreel. "What?"

"He would Dean," Gadreel closed his eyes slowly.

Dean looked hesitant, but then he spat it out. "What else do you know?"

"That he loves you? That he doesn't hold anything against you for not being so lonely? That he said all those things to make you mad? That his life is one of seven billion, but to him, you're worth more than all of them combined." Gadreel watched him dejectedly. "Of course, I do not know how that may have changed since you allowed me to possess him, but it is in him, it pounds through him. He left Amelia for you. He was going to take the interview and then leave with you, kissing Jess goodbye and promising to see her in a few months. That now, and then, whenever he looked forward into whatever might one day happen, he was not happy if you were not there with him."

Dean swayed a little, his sight lost across the top of Gadreel's head. Then he snapped to attention and glared at Gadreel. "Why are you telling me this? Now?"

Gadreel sat back carefully in his chair. "Because I have made up my mind and would like to see Castiel now."

Dean looked at him, shocked, and then entered the Angel's phone number into his phone. The angel blade lay discarded on the bed.

* * *

Sam slurred forward and grasped the bar bench heavily. Kelly giggled and caught some of his weight so that he didn't smash his head on the table.

"'Hanks," he murmured, placing his hand carefully on the bench and smiling, dazed, at the waitress. "You're _pretty_."

"_You're _very handsome, Sam," Kelly grinned and sat him back down. "Another."

Sam nodded eagerly and accepted the next bottle of beer. He downed a quarter of it in a single gulp before setting it down heavily on the bar, right next to where all the other empty bottles sat, the water on the outside still melting off the warming glass.

"You know," Sam managed, eyes half closed. "I once da'ed a _werewolf_."

"No," Kelly said, wide eyed, teasing. "What was her name?"

"Maddy," Sam said, suddenly mournful, downing another quarter of the amber liquid. "I miss her. And Jess. And Amelia."

"Unlucky in love?" Kelly asked, sobering a little and watching him with wide, knowing eyes. "Same here. Always get dropped just as I think we're getting somewhere."

Sam stared moodily down at the puddle of condensation at the bottom of his bottle. "They all _died_. Well, not _all_, but I couldn't _save _them."

"Sam," Kelly said, her voice turning urgent. "What do you mean?"

"Sarah, too," Sam said, and he looked like he was nearly in tears. "I really, _really _like-liked her, ya know?"

"Sam, who died?"

He cut off the sad and glanced over at her, eyes bright again. "Waddabout you, Kel? Can I call you Kel? Nice and short and pretty."

"Sure," Kelly said, not smiling. "Sam, please, who died?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. Lot's o' people."

"Is there someone I can call for you?" Kelly pressed. "Do you need to talk to someone?"

"I need..." Sam frowned and then started again. "I need'a talk to m' brother."

"I mean like a Shrink," Kelly pressed.

"I need'a tell him that 'm _sorry_," Sam slurred, reaching to stand up again, but stumbling back into his seat.

"Sam, it can wait. Who can I call to pick you up?" Kelly asked quickly.

Sam waved her off. "I 'ave a car."

"You're smashed," She protested, glancing around the room and seeing a few interested eyes looking their way. It was still day outside, but the bar had been steadily filling since about 4. "Please, Sam. Do you need me to drive you home? I'd order a cab, but it, well, we don't _have _any-"

"Kelly," Sam interrupted. Then he smiled. "Kel. Um. Can you please get me another beer?"

"You finished the one I just gave you?" Kelly asked, dumbfounded. "Already?"

Sam shook his head, nodding down to his shirt. "Spilt it."

"I'll get you a shirt," Kelly stated quickly, hopping around to the back of the bar where a few old, white shirts had been left for some unknown reason by come infuriatingly complicated boss. Now, though, she was glad Cal was so anal about so many random things.

She pulled it up and moved to Sam, hoisting him off and helping him walk to the kitchen, pushing through the double swinging doors. The kitchen was pretty simple, a fryer, an oven, a microwave and a fridge. All they needed for the simple meals they offered.

Kelly helped Sam out of his jacket and placed it carefully on the bench, then helped him strip the rest of his layers off, the plaid and then the grey undershirt. It was soaked through and Kelly tried not to stare appreciatively at his broad, clean chest.

She sighed and pulled the shirt over his head, helping the swaying man to lean against the wall.

"Sam?"

Kelly looked over her shoulder and saw a man standing there, big green eyes and a face that could have fried an egg.

She nodded toward him. "Had a bit too much to drink."

The man rolled in and sighed, hoisting his brothers arms over his shoulders. "Thanks. Jesus, Sam."

Sam mumbled, dropping off sleepily, leaning on the shorter man.

Kelly saw how instinctively they touched and narrowed her eyes. "You're not..._dating_ are you?"

The man rolled his eyes. "_No_. Christ. We're _brothers_."

Kelly hesitated but then smiled. "So, uh, you'll take care of him now, then?"

"I always have," the man muttered, heaving his younger brother along. "Why the hell did you let him drink so much?"

Kelly shrugged innocently.

The man sighed again before hitching Sam's arm further around his shoulders and heading out back into the bar, and through the window, Kelly could see him nod at one of the customers, the one who'd probably shown him where Kelly and Sam had headed off to.

Kelly scowled and scrubbed at her face angrily, before running her hand through her hair. Jesus Christ. Why did this always happen?

"Hey, Kelly," Cal, her boss inched into the kitchen, almost angry. "What the hell was with the free beer? The dude drank most of our stuff!"

"Can it, asshole," Kelly rolled her eyes and strode forward. She picked a knife off from where they were stacked next to the microwave and held it loosely in her hand.

Cal watched her wide eyed. "Kelly?"

She smiled, small and feral. "Not anymore."

She marched over and slashed him quickly through the throat. Blood smashed across the wall and his head ached back from the gaping slit through his neck. He fell heavily to the floor and Kelly brought out her goblet.

She knelt down and allowed the blood to trickle into it, watching with boredom as the last of the light left his eyes.

Her eyes flipped to black as she swirled her finger through the red, muttering the incantation under her breath.

Abaddon's voice reached her from the other end and she responded evenly, distractedly, her head swaying softly like she was listening to music.

"Yes, as expected...the tattoo, you were right...yes...no...it was his brother...yes...

"I'll take you to him."

* * *

Gadreel and Cas, they had looked at each other so constantly in the past few days that it had become more of a standard state than something they consciously chose to do.

"There's only one way to enter Heaven," Gadreel stated. "Secret. Known only to Metatron and a few others."

"How do we get through it?" Cas asked.

"You'll need me to show you where it is," Gadreel said. "And you will need a reaper to open it."

* * *

_Hands up if you knew Kelly was a demon. Bc I did. Holla. Haha._

_Anyway, forever bitter bc Abaddon is not ruling the world with her awesome lipstick and on-point hair._

_Later._


	3. Laugh, I nearly Died

_Holla and welcome to the final instalment bitches. Don't get too excited, bc I have a confession._

_Only one big bad will die tonight._

_I know what you're thinking, "But megan, do we really have to deal with Abaddon/Metatron/Morticae/Crowley for another season?" _

_Yes we do my young friends. As I may want to write a s10 fic, and if I do I may want to continue this AU, and if I do that I will need to leave one of the villains already existent. You wanna know why? Bc I have no imagination that's why. Bang._

_95% of this story was prompted by tumblr and the rest was made up on the spot. Go team._

_(PS I think Kelly might be a bit gay for Abaddon.)_

_BTW, stairway to heaven, an angel named Esther working for Metatron? What the fuck I am so good. Holy Shit._

_Awkward I totally forgot Gadreel killed Malachi. And that his...name is Malachi, not Mordicae. So um...AU anyone?_

* * *

"Now everybody always seems to talk about

The sun setting in the west.

Do we give up and just enjoy the lights?

And say we did our best?"

-_Stay and Defend, _Wolf Gang

* * *

There are a lot of little known things about a possessed vessel. Like if stabbed with a knife made in the depths of hell, purposed to kill demons, the vessel will become useless and tainted. You cannot possess a vessel where a demon had already died. Not for lack of trying or out of respect for their fellow 'comrade', or whatever. No, it was just impossible.

You could possess dead bodies, of course. It was useful whenever they wanted to appear as Zombies or golems or something along those lines, something that'd tickle a hunters fancy, but leave the water gun at home. But that was it. A burnt out body was a burnt out body. No two ways about it.

All demons knew that. They knew it instinctively, like the years they'd been tortured, again and again and again, they'd been lectured about things that they might want to know when their soul went darkside.

It was doubtful. Dean Winchester was one of the only people pulled from the pit and he didn't remember anything along those lines. All he could remember was fire and brimstone. That he'd finally cracked one day and that he regretted it ever since.

Kelly wasn't sure how she knew. Her name wasn't actually Kelly, but her real name, the one that had been all the rage in the Middle Ages was a little off kilter for the day and age she was supposed to be impersonating. Kelly would do fine.

Abaddon was her queen. She was her everything. She didn't see much of the human outline the Knight had possessed, but beneath that unspectacular layer was something much more frightening, much more alluring. If she could feel such a thing, Kelly would call it love. Because she knew better, she called it devotion.

And she was right.

They met at Kelly's home, the one that the girl she was possessing shared with her boyfriend. He'd kicked it as soon as Kelly had had the black smoke forced down her throat. Hey, the demon needed a little fun to get herself going, didn't she? And it wasn't like his death had been useless. He'd been a sacrifice. Kelly had needed to contact someone. Probably.

"You've done well, congrats Pablo," Abaddon grinned and lazed back in an arm chair across from Kelly.

"Thank you, my queen," Kelly's stiffness a result of awe and respect.

"There's just a few logistics and then we can stamp down on this little enterprise," Abaddon stated. "How many angels did you say?"

Kelly cleared her throat, nervous that the queen would lose her head. "50. Perhaps more. They gather by the day."

Abaddon grimaced but didn't seem too put out. "So we have to be tricky. Meh. Knew this was going to be harder than it looked."

"What would you have me do now?" Kelly asked, eyes wide, with fright and excitement.

Abaddon smiled and her eyes flicked over to inky black. Light shined off the filled sockets and Kelly felt a thrill run down her back, something to do with static and excitement and everything the world would become. "Come, Padawan. We have work to do."

* * *

Drunk Sam was possibly Dean's least favourite incarnation of his brother. Sam was sappy and open at the best of times, with those soulful eyes and pouty lips, but whenever he got intoxicated, it just ran downhill from there. The last time Sam had been drunk had been..._ages _ago. Dean couldn't even remember his brother drinking more than a bottle of beer since he'd gone to Hell. He'd even eyed off the strong stuff during the day in, day out debacle with Mike and Luci. Dean resented his brother for his self control and pitied him for it as well. There was a lot of good in the numbness of a good whiskey. There was something to be said for staring into the bottom of your glass and knowing you won't have to deal with whatever had been eating at you for the past few days.

Dean had drunk the most in the year Sam had nearly snapped. _Had _snapped, towards the end, Lucifer panting in his ear, _God, _the electro-shock therapy that had torn him utterly apart, Cas taking on his pain and _never ever _finding himself at rest. And Dean watched.

All the while, the Leviathans were running the frickin world and he was stuck without the impala, without Bobby, Kevin becoming another burden to his responsibility-

He drew a breath and watched the lines of the road, white under his headlights in contrast to the darkened, night time road. _Kevin_. Sam didn't notice his brothers discomfort, lying back steadily, head resting towards his window, murmuring to himself every now and again, eyes closed but breathing hitching too oddly to be asleep.

"You right, Sammy?" Dean asked, glancing over a little worriedly, the distance he'd felt with any positive emotions over the past few months narrowing as he remembered what Gadreel had told him.

Sam murmured a _yes _in response before yawning and shifting so that his face was placed looking towards Dean.

"'m sorry you took 'n the Mark, Dean," Sam said slowly, eyes drooping and words slurring. "_I _should'a done it for you."

"No way, man," Dean said lightly, his hands tightening, constricting, around the wheel of the impala. "You did the trials, right? It was my turn. We can't be Legolas all the time."

Sam giggled. "Legolas, ass, ass."

"Very mature," Dean rolled his eyes. He would have been lying if he didn't say that he wasn't enjoying Sam acting like the little brother instead of the world weary grandfather.

Sam pouted. "But _'m _Legolas, you're _Aragorn_, remember?"

Oh God, they were not relating themselves to Lord of the Rings Characters. This wasn't happening. Dean had a _reputation _to think about for God's sake.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember," Dean sighed. Privately reflecting that if they were anyone, they'd be Frodo and Sam. Jesus Christ, he was _such _a dork.

He smiled a little to himself as he imagined Charlie's face when she heard that he'd made a Lord of the Rings reference. He wouldn't put it passed the girl to start crying.

His smile dropped as he thought of Oz. Maybe she wasn't so into Pop Culture anymore, maybe she wasn't into _anything_. Maybe she was dead.

His hands gripped tight on the wheel. _Alive, alive, Charlie was alive. Calm the fuck down._

"A'yway," Sam yawned settling back in the seat. "I Th'ght _you _were Arragu..." he frowned. "Yeah. Ara. Because you w're all, _triumvanterate _or whatever."

"Triumverate?" Dean guessed. "Because out of that I'm pretty sure I'm Octavian."

Sam barked out a laugh. "Ha! Yeah. Whatever. No, _triumphant._ Y'know, _yay_ and all that."

"You really need to get to bed," Dean muttered, casting a worried eye across to his brother. He remembered Gadreel's voice, banging inside of his head, _He loves you. _That Sam'd die for him, or something along those lines. It was enough, enough for Dean to see where he'd gone wrong and where the Mark had caused him to make all the wrong assumptions. Now he felt it, that thrum, that connection to reality, one that he hadn't felt in a long time. it was invigorating. It was, if he was pretentious and irritatingly _Dean_ish, Comfortably Numb. From the pain that was the blade. From the power.

The days when he would have given anything to give it to anyone else.

The days when he looked in the mirror, saw himself and so no better person for the burden that the mark was.

"So I'm triumphant," Dean hit Sam on the arm to stop his younger brother passing out before they got back to the motel. "What are you? Why're you Legolas?"

"I dunno," Sam murmured, his voice coated thick and slow as honey, melting beneath layers of sleepiness. "Wha' 's I talkin' 'bout 'gain?"

"I dunno Sammy," Dean sighed, pressing down hard on the accelerator on the incline and not easing up as they came over the hill, spinning wheels across the landscape to get back to where he could get Sam to bed. Other than the rev of the car, nothing seemed to touch Dean's easy calm exterior at all. "Let's get you home, kay?"

"Kay, D'n," Sam murmured sleepily.

"Hey, man," Dean thwacked him again. "You gotta stay awake."

"'n it," Sam assured him, the sentence cut in half by a yawn.

Dean clenched his jaw. "Dammit." And he pushed the Impala faster.

* * *

Sam had his arm wrapped around Dean's shoulders as they made their way into the motel room. They filed through their door and staggered over the carpet, Sam's half closed eyes taking in his surroundings with little interest.

Dean hardly staggered under his brothers weight, and he owed it more to Cain's Mark than to Sam doing something worrying like not eating or overexercising.

Dean felt a surge of calm wash over him as the old protective instincts curled themselves through his blood. Memories of carrying a small baby out of the fire, of having carried him a lot further. Of thinking about that fire and wanting to even further than that. Because he deserved to go further, because they _had _to go further, and Dean was terrified of what would happen if he set his bundle down.

Funny how things from your childhood follow you through your life, hey?

"Ok, Sammy," Dean steered Sam on top of his bedclothes and lowered the 31 year old to the mattress with relative ease. Dean stood back as Sam crashed his head onto the pillow, moving around so that he was on his front, his hair spreading over his face.

Dean sat on the bed next to Sam's and rubbed a hand over his face, sighing as he watched his little brother curl off to sleep. In the low light, and with a haircut, Dean could almost pretend that they were back to where they were, him and Sam taking one of the hotel rooms when there weren't three in a room, John off scouting a job or scamming a bank out of its money. Maybe off to the bar. Cut away that many years and go back to _that _time, and in three minutes John would be back, he'd be tired and then Sam and he would somehow end up fighting. Strong-willed and as passionate as ever. It sometimes scared him, what had happened to that boy, with all the dreams of Law and the real, big wild world. With Jess on his arm.

Carmen, God, Dean hadn't thought about Carmen in..._forever_. he'd all but forgotten she'd existed after everything that had happened, after Sam had died...when he had died the _first _time, when Dean had sold his soul, when Dean had lost four months of his life for forty years, when Sam had undone what should have never been touched, when Sam had paid for it, when he had come back.

Sometimes Dean overran these thoughts in his mind, but not in a while. He tried not to think about Lucifer where he could, tried not to remember Michael, in his father's body or in Adam's. Tried not to think about Adam writhing around in eternal torment, the only outlet for Lucifer and Michael to vie their frustrations. Tried not to think about Benny, where he was now and whether there had been any rest for his old friend. Think about all the stupid decisions he'd made and how they'd ended up. Bobby, oh God, _Bobby_. And Jo, and Ellen and Rufus, and Pamela and Ash, and _everyone _else.

So he hadn't lately, not for a while. It uncapped something better left untouched. Don't scratch the wall? Death's advice had been for saving his brother from eternal mental anguish and torture, but Dean chose to employ it for a different reason. Stash your crap, watch it from afar, let it rot. Revisit when it doesn't affect you so damn much.

Unhealthy? Yeah, he'd give you that. Unhealthy as shit and there'd be Hell to pay down the line if he didn't sort out his messed up psyche, but functional, reasonable. Gave him a few less reasons _not _to get up in the morning.

"D'n," Sam murmured, stuffily enough that Dean assumed he was talking in his sleep. Dean paused curiously, wondering if he'd say more.

"D'n?"

Dean blinked. "Uh, yeah, Sammy?"

Sam shifted slightly and his breathing evened out further from the long slow breaths he'd already been having. "Th'nks."

"No problem," Dean smiled, actually genuinely smiled. If he was more into irony, he might have reflected that it was as good as a sign of the apocalypse.

* * *

Cas knew better than most, that angels actually _could _get drunk. It took a lot of the hard stuff, he'd managed to down Chicago's entire collection of whiskey before even feeling a tingle in his fingers, and then it took all of Kyoto's Sake to get him properly lost. Then, of course, he'd gone off on his bender to the liquor store and stood still for a long time, the numbness, the loss of reality, it was all _too good_.

Sam was drunk, or at least that's what Dean had said, who was looking relatively more human and relatively more bearable than he had been a few days ago. Cas was relieved, _very _relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with Dean all Cain'd up for much longer. Find Abaddon, eliminate the threat, proceed.

Cas didn't know how to get the mark off his friend, but after the Tyrant was dead, perhaps then he could be persuaded to start looking.

Now he was following Gadreel's advice and collected himself a reaper. Reapers moved all throughout the world, but after the fall, they'd faded off to the fringes of society. The souls were a collection of imprints terrified on the earth, and Cas was deathly relieved that he didn't have to deal with their screams.

"Tessa?"

The Reaper looked over her shoulder, clutching a tumbler of whiskey. "Hello?"

"We haven't met," Cas proffered his hand to her briskly. She accepted it slowly, eyeing him warily. It was a packed bar and she had every right to be cautious. He suspected that Reapers like her were under threat, targeted by Angels on all counts. They were useful. With all that contact to souls, all that power that could dangle at their fingertips, should they allow it. Cas had considered employing Reapers into his service when he had first wanted to reclaim heaven from Raphael, but he knew that they would not follow him. They were not prideful or self-boasting, but they did have a sense of their own self-worth, and knew that their numbers were low enough, that they needed as many as they could on earth, reaping souls, moving people on.

Not that they could anymore.

She shook his hand slowly. "No. We haven't. Who are you?"

"I am Castiel," Cas said, dead faced. He would not lie to her, if she knew of his reputation, which her narrowed eyes and reclined hand told him that she did, he would take any retribution she dished out to him. This was his penance, and he had disrupted the natural order of things. "And I need your help."

"I'm a little preoccupied," Tessa withdrew further, her elbow creeping back so that it pressed against the bar, the ice in her drink clinking slightly against the glass as it hit. Even with all this noise, Cas could hear it. Hear everything. It was deafening. It was for these things he missed being human. The perhaps of a happy ending, of peace down the road.

Cas frowned. "I am confused. I assumed that the souls being blocked from Heaven left you free?"

Tessa smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Heard about that then? Not surprised. Word is, you caused the fall."

Cas bowed his head and he clenched his hands. "I...I did not mean for this to happen. Metatron, he tricked me. There was nothing I could do then, his betrayal was too deep, but I need to do something now."

Tessa nodded. "Yeah. You do."

Cas looked up. "So you'll help me?"

Tessa raised her eyebrows. "Whoa, slow down. I definitely did _not _say that."

Cas deflated, but he bit down on his resolve. "Tessa, I need the assistance of a reaper. I must get to Heaven and I must kill Metatron so that all this can end, so the spell can break."

Tessa nodded slowly. "Yeah. You're right. I'm just not your girl." She turned hard and looked away from him, staring down at her hand. "I won't help you, Castiel."

"So you'll sit here, drink," Cas gestured to her drink, his despair hardly contained. Tessa had connections through Dean. Near Reaping was a powerful thing. Not something easily spoilt or lost. Even after all those years downstairs, Dean still had remnants of her grace tracked deep into his DNA. "Forget your own kind? Help me _help _you."

Tessa clenched her jaw. "Please, go away."

Cas wanted to force her to help him, to help the _world, _he did. But he _couldn't. _He wouldn't sacrifice Sam Winchester to find where Gadreel was, because Sam's life was more important than finding the traitor to Heaven. And now he knew that this Reaper's choice was more important than finding Metatron. That there would be other Reapers. There would be other opportunities. This was _her choice_.

Free Will, after all.

And Cas decided that the ends, in this case, didn't justify the means. And he realised that he was beginning to open up to the idea, more and more, ever since he first landed on this god forsaken earth. That Will wasn't optional, that it was difficult. But that it was a _right _not a privilege. Perhaps one day he would find this angel again and tell her that she had made him realise a profound truth, but he doubted it. Whether it was because he died, or because she never, along with all the other angels, wanted to speak to him again, it didn't matter.

But he would like to thank her. Perhaps, even if it only was once. And stated so that she'd assume it were for something else.

"Thank you," he said, earnestly, unguardedly, smiling triumphant and brilliant before the Reaper.

Tessa blinked. "No problem."

Cas moved to walk away but Tessa called out and he stilled. "Cas, wait."

Cas turned and looked at her, curiously hopeful. He wouldn't do himself the disservice of pulling a mask over his features. _Honesty bleeds respect._

She stared at him, hard. "How did you find me?" Her voice wasn't accusing, not entirely. It felt more that the fire was forced, that she was curious, perhaps in one regard terrified. If he found her, who else could? Would Metatron, who knew perhaps that she was friends with the Winchesters? Would one of the other factions, one who would force her to join, or kill her?

"Dean Winchester," Cas stated, frowning, wondering where she was confused.

Tessa's eyes widened. "Winchester." It was more a statement to herself than agreeing with Cas, but he took it as an opportunity to continue the conversation anyway.

"Yes," he nodded. "He and Sam have been imperative to our cause."

Tessa watched him carefully. She had touched Dean's soul, or at least come near enough to it to sense what it contained. Trust and honour and loyalty. All good things.

He could see her whirring her mind into gear, sparking into life the sections she'd left dormant.

Her eyes glazed slightly and Cas was worried that he was losing her. But then she spoke and she sounded so small, like a child, like she was experiencing everything new for the first time. "I can...I can _hear _them, Castiel."

"Who?" He moved near to her, tilting his head in concern.

She swallowed back tears, her fingers were white around the whiskey tumbler. "The _souls_. They're _so _scared...I...I don't...there's nothing I can _do_."

"You can do this," Cas offered simply.

Tessa nodded, slowly, and then turned so that her back was to Cas and her hand was placing the glass of whiskey on the bar top.

She flashed him a small smile. "Let me grab my bag."

* * *

Take the fight to Metatron, right? To Dean it had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, come on their own terms and raise a little hell. But, Heaven? Where Metatron was at his strongest? Yikes. No wonder Sam was called the Brains of the team, even if his natter had gotten a little repetitive over the course of the past half an hour.

"This is a bad idea, Dean," Sam stressed.

"I know, I heard you the first fifty times," Dean replied distractedly, watching the assembling legion. There still weren't that many. Angels flocked to Metatron and huddled under his wing. Castiel might have been the icon for the way angels _should _behave, but he was far from the easier option. If Dean thought carefully about it, he could say that Cas would forgive the angels that had fought against him, and Metatron wouldn't.

Dean wondered if they knew that or if they just flocked to Metatron because he was the easier option. He hoped it was the second, it made him feel a little better about cutting through them when the time came.

"Hey," Sam snapped Dean's attention onto him.

Dean looked over. "I swear man, if you say that this is a bad idea one more time-"

"No, it's not that," Sam said, clearing his throat a little uncomfortably. "It's just...we don't split up, in Heaven. Right?"

Dean nodded, frowning like what Sam was saying was default. "Of course Sammy."

Sam smiled but didn't relax. "Thanks." He looked over to the mumbling angels, gathering together and casting the odd inquisitive, or even suspicious look the Winchester's way.

Cas's pimped out car drove into the motel pretty much to the minute he said he'd be back. Dean felt an off flutter in his chest when he saw Tessa sitting, rigid, but there, in the passenger seat. He knew Cas was going to get her, but he wasn't sure that she'd come. He thought about Kevin and Candy and all the other souls trapped in the veil and wondered what the reapers were doing, how they'd be coping so out of remission. From the bags under her eyes and how tired her skin looked, not well.

Tessa stepped out of the car before Cas did, and while he walked to his assembled flock, she walked over to Sam and Dean, smiling in that assuring, confident way of hers.

"Hey, Dean," she greeted, smiling. "It's been a while. Hi Sam."

"Tessa," Sam nodded to her, watching her curiously, the hangover still pounding in his ears. Hannah had offered to heal it for him when she'd seen that he'd been in pain, but he'd waved her off. That she needed to save her grace and strength for more important things. She hadn't seemed thrilled at the reminder, but seemed grateful that Sam had some concept of the enormity of the task they had yet to complete.

"Good to see you, Tess," Dean smiled, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt. "How you been?"

Tessa shrugged, and it was the first time Dean had seen her force anything to cover any emotion. When he'd been Death, she'd made her displeasure blatantly clear. When she'd been sent to Reap him when the semi-trailer had nailed them, she'd been earnest, in a way that made Dean feel like she was desperate, but also in a way that made him feel wanted, needed. Tessa knew how emotions worked, how life and death and all the in-betweens fit together. She'd lived a long time, and once all this was fixed, she'd live a lot longer. "Neither here nor there. Long Service Leave hasn't been much fun."

Dean sighed. "No, not it wouldn't be."

* * *

Ok. Sam did feel terrible. He knew he should have probably been a little bit more careful about the whole, 'getting drunk with a pretty girl' now that he was old enough to be married with children, but the alcohol had just kept coming, and Kelly had been nice. And funny. The last time he'd properly been with someone had been Amelia, and that had fallen to pieces pretty quickly. He wondered sometimes if she had turned up to that motel room. If she had seen it empty and just..._left_. Sam wasn't sure which made him feel worse, that the room had remained empty, or that it had been half full.

His head ached, his body ached, his mouth tasted disgusting, no matter what he ate to cover it up. He'd vomited three times after he'd woken up and his sight had been blurry for the better part of two hours.

It was starting to better, though, now as the day drew towards the median. He could hold a gun straight and he was starting to get a better feeling in his fingers. The pounding in his jaw and the painfully extreme senses were beginning to dull, and Sam could feel the relief in his temple, behind his eyes.

He still winced in the sunlight, and Dean smirked at him. Sam had glared, but as soon as Dean had turned away he'd let the pretence drop and he'd felt...slowly hopeful. He hadn't seen Dean show anything _positive _in the last few weeks, not under Cain's influence, not with Crowley perching on his shoulder.

Sam had no idea what he'd said the night before, he couldn't even remember spilling the alcohol on himself and Kelly helping him into the new shirt, and he definitely didn't remember Dean coming to pick him up and take him back to the motel.

Cas had called for a meeting and all the 'Top Dogs' (as Dean had called it) were invited to attend.

Cas's wording still got to Sam, _invite_, he was treading so carefully with these angels, them and what he saw as their loss of free will coming to him. But nevertheless, they had a meeting to attend.

So there they were.

Three Angels, one being Hannah, sat deftly on the bed, next to each other, backs straight and faces serious. Hopeful, if Sam was looking carefully enough, and scared. Then Cas stood in front of them all, jaw tight and hands jumping in and out of being clenched together. Then there was Tessa, slouching against the wall in the corner, watching the group with trepidation, glancing now and again to the angels, raising her eyebrows. Then Sam stood next to Dean on the other side of the wall, where his brother watched the happenings with a blank face. Sam just stood, and when Cas looked over to the Winchesters to get a nod of support, it was Sam who gave it to him.

"So, what's goin' on, Boss?" Dean asked, steering the conversation into lighter waters.

Cas didn't look thankful though, hanging his head slightly before speaking. "Gadreel-"

The name sent a shiver of disgust down Sam's spine, _slimy, dirty, slimy and wrong_, and across the room. Cas didn't pause for it, ignoring also Tessa's pinched, surprised expression.

"Has told me that a Reaper would be needed to open the stairway to Heaven. That he must lead us there," Cas instructed the gathered group.

Sam glanced across subtly and saw that Tessa didn't seem surprised at this. Perhaps Cas had briefed her in the car, perhaps he had told her everything.

This incessant honesty, it was refreshing. Refreshing and so different from who the angel had once been.

"What do you need us to do?" Hannah asked.

"I need you and Harriet and Alexander to guard Gadreel, ensure that he doesn't fly away," Cas spelt out to her. "He will be in cuffs, but he has been crafty before, and he will be again."

"Us, Cas?" Sam asked, moving away from the wall slightly, engaging into the Angelic council.

Cas smiled slightly. "Guard my back."

"Just like old times, hey," Dean said. Then he paused. "Well, but the vice versa."

"And, uh, me?" Tessa asked.

Cas nodded at her. "You know how to open the gate?"

Tessa nodded slowly. "Yeah, but-"

"Why haven't you already opened it, then?" Sam asked, biting halfway through her sentence.

Tessa looked at him squarely, but there was nothing but softness in her eyes, compassion perhaps. "I couldn't find it."

"Which is why we need Gadreel," Cas said, looking at Sam as well, worriedly.

The room fell silent.

"When do we reconvene?" Hannah asked.

"2 Hours," Cas said readily, grateful that she had disrupted the quiet.

There was another silence, where Sam took the time to glance at his watch. 12:30, or there about.

"Lunch?" Dean asked Sam, glancing down at his brothers wrist as well.

Sam smiled awkwardly to the watching room. "Uh, yeah. Lunch. Sounds good."

* * *

The town wasn't big enough for a taxi service, but it did have a 'Mama's Diner', complete with red leather booths and pancake stacks with a square of butter and copious amounts of maple syrup. It seemed to be the only place in the town to do _anything_, so it was packed by the time Dean and Sam got there.

Sam glanced around the room, impressed and bemused by the hype and the smiling people.

"There's nowhere to sit," Dean mentioned idly. He glanced up to the menu, where 'YOU'RE FREE TO TAKE AWAY' was written out in style white letters. "Take-out?"

"Good to me," Sam said, peering up with his brother, squinting his eyes and trying to find the healthiest option.

"Yeah, hi," Sam heard Dean say to the waiter from behind the bar. "We'll get two Bacon Burger meal deals, to take away?"

"Sure," the waiter said, glancing at the two of them and chewing his gum, moving away with the order and yelling it into the kitchen.

Dean grinned up at Sam and Sam gave the all honourable bitch face. "Seriously, Dean?"

"What can I say?" Dean shrugged. "It looked like a damn fine burger."

"Yeah, with a side serving of Heart Disease."

"It's chips, actually, Sammy. You should probably _read _the menu-"

"I don't _want _Heart Disease, Dean!"

Dean smiled slyly. "We're all going to Heaven, Sam. Might as well enjoy the ride."

Sam rolled his eyes and leant back on the counter, sighing.

"Alright, I'm off to the toilet," Dean said.

"Thanks," Sam said. "Thanks for telling me."

"Hey," Dean said softly. "You're _welcome_."

Sam rolled his eyes, again, and Dean struck off to the bathroom around the side of the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, the bell over the door played and someone new walked in, someone Sam remembered, but couldn't name for the life-

"Hey, Sam!"

Sam looked over and smiled hesitantly. "Hey...Carrie?"

She looked disappointed. "I made that much of an impression on you, did I? Kelly."

"Oh yeah," Sam's face was in serious danger of becoming redder and hotter than the grill. "Sorry. How've you been?"

"How have _you _been?" Kelly gave him the once over, her eyebrow cocked in a position of impressed. "You drank more alcohol last night than I have..._ever_."

This struck Sam as a little off, that she'd bring up the drinking, her getting him drunk, all those free beers. Perhaps it had been like she said, that she was interested in him...but, God, it was a weird way to go about it.

Sam laughed awkwardly. "Yeah, um. Must have a good metabolism. Or something."

Kelly smiled. "Good to know. What are you doing here?"

"Lunch," Sam gestured off to the kitchen. "With my, uh, brother. What about you?"

"Lunch," Kelly looked around and frowned. "Why's it so busy here? Some sort of convention going on downtown? I heard that the motel was way overbooked."

"Really?" Sam asked, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, and the motel keepers kind of freaked," Kelly said, leaning closer to him as she dropped her voice to keep the conversation private. "He says that they never change their clothes, and that he thinks most of them don't sleep at all."

"Wow," Sam said, frowning. "Is he going to call the cops?"

Kelly sighed. "Well, there's not really anything he can do. It's not like they're breaking any laws for having poor hygiene." She leant nearer to the bar, and nearer to Sam. "So where are you staying?"

"I, uh-"

"I don't mean to intrude," Kelly ploughed on. "But, well, you're not from around here. Obviously. So, where are you staying?"

_Lies breed more lies_. Maybe in telling the truth he could shake some of her suspicions of the motel and then she could filter the assurances through the community. "The, uh, motel actually."

Kelly grinned. "No_ way_. Well, you're wearing different clothes than you were yesterday."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, smiling. She was cool, Kelly. He shouldn't have worried. Trust issues, right? Pain in the ass.

"Well, whatever, you got any goss on what's actually happening there?" Kelly asked excitedly.

Sam sighed internally and his smile dropped slightly. She wasn't going to let this drop, was she? "Uh, well, from what I can tell it's some sort of convention. They all seem to know each other."

"Weird," Kelly said. "Like, Family convention? Because I'd know if there was a business one."

Sam decided that ignorance was the best defence from here on out. "No idea."

"You sure?" Kelly pressed. "You sure you don't know _anything_? This entire thing is killing me. C'mon, Sammy."

Sam frowned at the nickname but didn't press it, it had been a long time since he'd told someone off for not just using 'Sam'. "Sorry. They're pretty private, I suppose."

"You're living in the same building as them, and you haven't noticed _anything_," Kelly said, raising her eyebrows, obviously suspicious.

Sam cleared his throat and smiled uncomfortably. "Yeah. I guess they just...don't want people to know about them. I guess?"

He must have seemed overly uncertain because now Kelly was losing her humour. "You're not, _one _of them are you?"

"What? No."

"You're getting defensive," Kelly stated, as if that proved her point.

Sam frowned. He _hadn't _been defensive. His line had been smooth and nonchalant. How else was he supposed to defend himself than with denial?

"No, I wasn't," As if he was realising something, as if there was something really off.

Dean had been taking a long time.

"Seriously, if it's some angelic cult or something, you can tell me," Kelly looked irritated. "I'm not going to tell anyone. I just want to _know_. God! You're being _so _unreasonable."

Because he was respecting other people's privacy? "Sorry," Sam said, genuine, but confused. Where the hell was she coming off? And Angel Cult? A little too close to home for comfort.

"Are you going to order?" She asked, roughly, scowling.

"I already have," Sam said, confused even more.

"Then get out of the _way_," Kelly snapped. "It's not that damn hard to be _courteous _every once in a while, Winchester."

Sam stilled and his breathing hitched. His heartbeat picked up and he felt carefully into his pocket, feeling where the demon blade, ice cold and hard sat, waiting.

"How'd you know that?" Sam asked quietly.

Kelly turned around, pissed that he was interrupting her order. "Know _what_, asshole?"

Trust issues? Yeah, there was a fucking _reason _he had trust issues. They'd kept him alive. Kept him _human_. "My last name."

Kelly faltered. "Uh, you told me. At the bar."

"No, I didn't."

Kelly rolled her eyes and shrugged. "It's not _my _fault you were so hammered you didn't even remember giving me your full name."

No, he wouldn't. Not even under full intoxication. He'd learnt that rule hard and he'd learnt it early. No one can know who you are. No one can have anything on you other than a name, a face and the impression your soul left on their fingertips. "I didn't."

Kelly scoffed. "Like you'd remember."

Sam smiled pleasantly, the sort of smile you might have seen if the Azazel debacle had gone the other way. If he'd taken his mantle as Boy King of Hell, if he'd lead the armies of demons to Heavens door. After Dean had sold his soul, it had been a war on no front, everything was chaos, disarray. Sam had looked up to the ceiling, sleepless in bed, and planned out how he would have done it.

It would have been a war on _all _fronts.

And Dean was taking a long time in the bathroom.

He pulled out the demon blade and swung it into her chest. Kelly gasped as the fire that became her skeleton flickered and charge throughout her body, eyes wide and bright, mouth open as she burned from the inside out.

The diner was still and silent, watching as the body fell to the floor.

Sam turned, defensively, stashing the knife back in his jacket and watching the commuters, all who were staring at him, shocked.

Sam stepped forward towards the door, but then they all stood. All of them, at once.

Shit.

Dean had been taking _way _too long in the bathroom.

They all rushed towards him at once, the Waiter leapt over the table and tackled him before he could pull out the blade. he rolled over and kicked him off, but the demon just barred a grin and spat as its eyes flashed to black. Sam threw his hand inside his jacket and pulled out the knife, slamming it into the leg of one reaching down to touch him. He kicked out and stood up, pressing back onto the counter as they surged around him.

Sam struck out with his foot and span the knife in his hand, slicing through the throat of the young waiter, winding an elderly woman.

"DEAN!"

A demon leapt behind him and smashed a bottle across his head. Sam stumbled over the body of Kelly, lashing out with the blade again, cutting through the leg, haphazardly, of another customer.

"Dean," he called out weakly, knowing his brother couldn't hear him, knowing something was very, _very _wrong.

"Your brothers dead, Sam," the demon closest to him smiled, his black eyes reflecting Sam's struggling face. "Dead and gone, and you didn't save him. Just like you said, right?"

_How the Hell..._but thought stopped, and time stopped, because there was pressure around his windpipe and _too many damn demons_. He gasped, the air coming out wheezed and tight, but then squeaky and _lost_.

_Dead. Dean. Dead. _Over and over again, the replaced last litter. N and D. N and D. Over and over and over. Sam's head was pushed back to lie on Kelly's blood stained abdomen.

He looked into the demons eyes, at its grinning face.

_Dead. They killed Dean. He's dead._

_You didn't save him. You promised me you'd save him. You killed your brother. You _killed _him._

And Sam turned away, as far as the hand on his throat would allow, and he closed his eyes. Sam gave up.

* * *

2:15 rolled around and Cas stood out in the car park with Tessa and the other angels.

"They're late," Hannah frowned, worried. "Should we look for them?"

"They're not late yet," Cas said adamantly, worried for them. Where could they be? They'd gone out to get lunch an hour ago. Perhaps there had been an unreasonably long wait for the food, or perhaps they'd gotten lost in each others company.

Either way, they had 15 minutes. 15 minutes and they had to go. Because Cas had promised Tessa that they would finish this, or end, today.

And he kept his promises.

* * *

Crowley had demons on look out. Ever since he'd reclaimed the race for the throne, it had been that way. Demons had frayed loyalties and only looked out for themselves. There were so many double and triple agents that it actually hurt his head a little. It was glorious, watching them enact in their natural environment.

Crowley smiled, content, in the ritziest room of the most expensive hotel in the world. Demons were enticing creatures. He only regretted that he'd never really paid them enough attention to create _true _loyalists.

Even Kelly, with her pretty smiles and promises had seemed like a tough way to go. She'd been deep in Adaddon's council and it would have been idiotic to pass up an offer from her. But that's the way that the world works, and that's the way that Crowley worked. When he was in charge of hell.

None of this chaos rubbish. You know what Humans love? Chaos. They'd die for it. They write _poems _about it for God's sake. You know what grates on humans? What get's under their skin? Order, law, being constantly told what to do and what to wear and who to kiss.

They aren't angels and they aren't stupid.

The Hell Abaddon was creating? It was nothing to what he'd do with the place when he reclaimed it.

"Sir," Crowley nodded towards the speaker, one from his inner council, Monique or something like that.

"Monique," Crowley nodded to her.

She faltered, frowning. "_Megan_."

"Right, right," Crowley waved his hand as if to say 'same thing'. "What do you have for me, _Megan_?"

She smiled. "We've found Abaddon."

Crowley mirrored her grin. "Where?"

* * *

Dean had lost count of the times he'd slammed his shoulder into the door. His phone wasn't working, his arms felt like lead and he was _enraged_. He was so _angry._ He'd never felt so wrong in his entire life. Sam, screaming out for him, the bangs and the _cracks_, the fizzles of a dying demon and the laughter and chatter of the dead's brothers and sisters.

The door wouldn't budge. It wouldn't _move_. The windows were too small for him to climb out of, the walls too thick to pound through.

And then his phone rang.

Dean stilled, preparing to slam his foot into the door. Even with Cain's added strength, even _this _hadn't worked. Praying to Cas was a waste of time, praying to Metatron probably hurt more than it gave and there were no other angels worth calling to.

But his phone rang. Dean grabbed it and stared hungrily at the scream. There was the familiar _666_ and Dean pressed to answer it.

"What?" he snarled, glaring again at the door, wondering how in hell it was locked so tight.

"Dean! Good to hear the uncontrollable blood lust in your voice, as always," Crowley stated easily, and Dean could almost see him twirling the phone cord around his finger, like he was one of the Babysitters Club.

"_What_?" He reiterated, not bothering to give the demon the time of day. "Sam's-"

"Neato," Dean could hear the eye roll. "I don't care about the Moose at the moment. I care about you, Homecoming Queen. I've found your competition, Abby's holed up in some town in Who-Know's-Where in Utah-"

"I _know _where she is, Crowley," Dean spat.

"Ah ha," Crowley said slowly. "And you didn't tell me...because?"

"Because I only found out when they _stole _my brother!" Dean yelled angrily, kicking the door again.

"That'll do it," Crowley said slowly. "Dean, where are you exactly?"

"In some godforsaken bathroom in some half-assed _diner_," Dean kicked at the door again, clutching his phone, his knuckles white around the small piece of plastic. "Get me _out _of here. You son of a bitch."

Crowley sighed and the line when dead. Dean growled and threw the phone as hard as he could at the door, watching as it hit the wood and smashed, falling to the ground in a mattered bunch of pieces.

"No need for the name calling, Thomas," Crowley tutted, moving from behind Dean, holding a parcel. "Now, what have Abaddon's monkey's done to make this door so damn impenetrable?"

"Who frickin' knows?" Dean demanded, swiping the parcel out of Crowley's hands.

Crowley raised his hands, bemused, and then walked to the door, sitting down on one knee and studying the handle.

"Seems like some sort of spell...eh. Bloody witches. Why'd they _always _become demons?" Crowley lamented, placing his hand on the handle and closed his eyes.

"Get out of my way."

"Just a moment, Dean. Daddy's busy."

"I said," and Crowley finally looked up at Dean, seeing the power, the diluted irises, the set of his shoulders, the hold of his jaw. "Get _out _of the _way_."

In his hand was the first blade, and he charged through the door.

He could feel Abaddon, now that he was so close. Feel her power scorching through the ground, in through the roots of trees, deadening the leaves. He could feel her scorching the land black and blue, a wash of terrible red and fire so great and hot that it put all others to shame, put the sun to shame.

Dean walked steadily out of the diner, over the bodies of the demons that Sam had killed, too numb to feel congratulatory for his brothers success, too deadened by all he'd lost.

_I will find you_, he promised Sam, promised Abaddon.

_And when I do, I will kill you_. And this time in sending ahead his thoughts, he sent them directly to _her_.

Crowley darted out after him, and the demon smiled.

* * *

"Hello, yes, it is me," Crowley announced himself to the group of worried, gathered angels.

Cas's eyes flashed from worry to fury, taking Crowley in. "Sam, Dean, what did you do?"

"Give a dog a bone and he'll go and bark up a tree," Crowley sighed. "No, you dwindling _pot brain_. I just gave the boys a push in the right direction."

"Crowley," Cas said slowly, angrily. "What _did you do_?"

Crowley smiled. "Sam was gone. Stolen. Capische?"

Cas nodded his understanding.

"And then Dean went mad, the Mark of Cain overtook the poor little squirrel, he demanded the blade and took off after his brother. Following so far?"

Cas went very still. "Dean has gone after Abaddon."

"That was implied," Crowley nodded.

"She kidnapped Sam to lure Dean there," Tessa managed.

"Hello, dearest," Crowley nodded to her. "Quite right. Now, I've done my good deed for the day. Anything else you want from me?"

"Where is Abaddon?" Cas pressed.

Crowley spread his hands. "Here. In this crappy little town. Who knew it was so full...just full, I suppose. Two armies destined to lose, all in the one place. It's sort of poetic, if you think about it."

Cas turned away from him and Crowley disappeared, melting into the air. "Okay, Hannah, you're with me, everyone else, follow behind-"

"Cas," Tessa interjected. "_Heaven_."

He looked at her, running out of steam. "Right. Uh..."

"I would lead the assault, Castiel," Hannah offered. "But it would fail without you."

"It would fail without them," Cas stated simply. "They have as much reason to despise Metatron as you."

"They're human," Hannah shrugged. "We don't need them."

Cas looked at her, and then to all the other angels, who looked like they were agreeing.

"I just...can't _wait _anymore," Tessa finally said, swallowing hard. "I _won't_."

His assembled host looked at him.

Cas closed his eyes. "I'm _sorry_."

* * *

When Dean found where Abaddon was hiding, he killed a lot of Demons. And it was _easy, _so _damn _easy. It made killing that vampire feel like effort, it made target practice feel like the first world war. This was so pure and basic. Strike and cast down, blade in the stomach, blade across the throat, teeth marks left wherever he struck.

Red salty liquid coated him, flecks of blood holed along his clothes. But none of it was his.

He walked in front of a mist of red, in front of a cloud of death.

He kicked the door to the front of the building down like it had never been there. Like he hadn't spent the better part of an hour trying to get out of a bathroom. Like the world was suddenly his to take.

More demons and more death. One barrelled straight towards him and he gutted the demon easily, then the other dashed out, and Dean pulled out the blade and struck him across the throat, eyes open to see the skeleton flicker, mouth emotionless, chin held high.

* * *

Abaddon grinned down to Sam, who was tied up, his mouth held over with silver tape. They could hear the bangs and the shouts and the fizzles as the demons died.

"I think your brothers coming," she said, twirling with the ends of Josie's hair. "Can't wait to see what he brings to Show-and-Tell."

Sam should have known that the demon was lying when it had said that Dean was dead.

Sam closed his eyes. _No. No Dean please. You're not you when you pick that thing up._

* * *

Dean saw Abaddon standing beside Sam and something so basically animalistic coursed through his veins that he stalked towards her hungrily, his feet hitting the ground tight, as if preparing themselves for Fight or Flight.

Sam was watching, and Dean could see that he was terrified. But he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but Abaddon. About the blade. About the power that had been given to him.

"Whoa, whoa there Jockey boy," Abaddon splayed her hand and Dean was thrown back against the wall, his head banging on the concrete. She grinned, white teeth beneath red lips. "I can't have you doing, _that_."

Dean snarled and fought to break free from her hold on him on the wall but he couldn't.

She laughed. "Look at you, all..._ill prepared_. It's almost like I kidnapped your brother for a _reason_."

Sam leant his head back on the wall and tried not to feel small, insignificant. The cog to a greater scheme.

Dean fought hard against the bonds, she pushed him back with her power, but he was becoming a knight, a _better _knight than she. He was becoming Cain. He was becoming the brother who had turned the world into a nightmare. And it was _thrilling_. He fought hard and harder, and his hand moved, the one with the blade, the one with the mark, and then his foot, and then his neck.

Then he pushed against it and made towards her.

Abaddon flicked into fight mode and pushed him back again, so that he hit the wall hard, his back colliding with an exposed pipe.

But _no_. He wouldn't let her leave this alive. He wouldn't let her kill any more people, turn anymore souls. Somewhere, deep inside him, was a deep grief for Colette, left over from the Mark's previous owner. And that grief pushed him.

_She killed her. She destroyed you. Kill her, kill her, kill her._

So Dean strode forward with all the strength he had. He wouldn't falter here, he wouldn't fall. He would keep going, keep fighting, be the best he could be.

Sam was still watching, and his worry gave Dean a strong sort of accomplishment, _power._

Dean was near to her now, and she pushed him back again, his feet sliding on the floor.

He grunted and heaved back, nearer to her, nearer and nearer, his face coming closer and closer to hers.

And then the wind dropped and he stumbled forward, so that the blade was within her length, so that he just had to cut out and strike her through the middle, when she opened up her mouth, and _screamed._

Great rushed of black smoke sang out like a banshee, above their heads and through the air. Dean screamed in frustration, cutting into Josie's body as it fell to the ground. But it was too late. Abaddon screeched above them, black rain clouds, smoke and poison and _so so so wrong._

It swirled in the air and Dean watched it.

But then it dived, towards Sam. Abaddon rushed into Sam's body, Sam's back arching as his mouth fill and his body was taken over. _Again._ As Abaddon forced herself inside of him, Dean felt time stop, felt that power dwindle away to nothing. Because he couldn't _do _this, he was _never _able to do this.

The adrenalin passed and he was just Dean again, a boy more than a man, watching the world in a seat he never asked for. Sam's body shuddered as Abaddon made herself at home.

And then his brother stood, and the eyes that opened were black. The ropes that had hung around him fell to the ground and he ripped the tape off his face, smiling as he looked at his hands.

"Well, damn," Sam said, in a voice that _wasn't his. _"This is pretty, isn't it?"

"Get out of him, you bitch," Dean snarled, feeling the old anger return and the need to cut and slice and claw his way through Abaddon. To destroy her.

_Colette. Colette. Colette. _The name of the dead love stamped itself alongside his beating heart.

Abaddon pursed her lips and pushed her hand through her hair. "I don't think I will. See, it's the perfect insurance, right?"

Abaddon suddenly grimaced, coughed, but then grinned. "Sammy's kicking away in there, you know. Kick, kick, kick. Seems to have a pretty good track record of kicking people out of his head."

"I am going to _kill _you," Dean said evenly.

"Well," Abaddon smiled, that brilliant flash of a grin that looked so _wrong _on his brothers face. "You are certainly going to try."

Dean smiled humourlessly. "I have the first blade, you _bitch_."

Abaddon held a hand to Sam's heart, like the insult stung. "Oh _Dean_. You shouldn't call your brother such awful things. Besides, that old relic? I'd be surprised if it still worked."

"You seemed pretty scared of it before," Dean reminded her, teeth gritted, revulsion puddling around his feet.

"Hm, yeah, that's true," Abaddon nodded, pursing Sam's lips and pushing his hair back from her face. "But now I've got old Sasquatch here, and things are gonna be different."

"I will _destroy you_!"

Abaddon smiled. "No you're not, Deano. Blade or not, you love your brother too much to-"

She coughed and grimaced again, and this time when the Sam's body spoke, it was _Sam _doing the talking.

That word, that word that had won them over before. _Love_. Only this time it was spoken, not felt. A reminder and a shout into the void. A caress, and their greatest strength.

Sam shrugged himself against the wall and gasped for air. His eyes were wide with fright and he looked at Dean across the room like everything was broken.

He laughed breathily. "The...the _tattoo _Dean..."

"Don't talk," Dean ordered, then he swallowed. "What do I do?"

Sam looked at Dean like he was crazy. "_Kill _me, Dean. You need to kill her."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not doing that."

Sam looked at him, without compassion. "Kill me."

"I'm _not _going to do that."

"Then Abaddon will regain control, and you'll have lost your chance!" Sam shouted, grimacing and closing his eyes as he battled with the demon trapped inside of him. Then he looked up at Dean and breathed unsteadily. "_Please_. I can't do it myself."

"No."

"I _won't _let her take more souls, Dean," Sam snarled. He blinked and Dean suddenly realised that Sam was crying, that he didn't want to go, but that he understood the Greater Good. He understood how many lives he would save. He was terrified. Oh God. His little brother, _How do I stop?_

_Please. I don't want to go._

Dean felt tears gathering in his eyes. Sam was the bravest person Dean knew. And he was sorry he hadn't said it before now, that it was something he had to realise, something Sam had to prove, again, and not something Dean just _knew_.

Sam sat down on the floor unsteadily. "_Please_, please, please, _please._"

Sam was begging him, begging him like the world was coming to an end. And Dean realised that it was, that if he didn't do this, then there would be no end. If he couldn't kill his brother now, then he never could.

Dean swallowed the poison that the blade thrummed through his blood, swamped the adrenalin with memories of Sam, memories of them.

Dean knelt unsteadily beside Sam and clasped the blade in his hand. Held it as a life line.

"I never told you," Dean coughed and placed his hand on Sam's shoulder slowly. He wanted t prolong the moment, even if that meant it gave more time for Abaddon to come back. He smiled and the tear that had been building up in his eye began to snake down his skin, leaving a clear stripe through the blood. "That...that I'm so _sorry _Sammy. I am _so _sorry."

Sam smiled at him, and for some reason, the world was suddenly bright again, bright and hopeful. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sam smile. Not like that. "It's ok, Dean." He took a deep breath and worked his jaw, and Dean could almost sense Abaddon pushing back out into the daylight. "It's ok."

_No_. "It's not."

"Dean, just..." Sam swallowed and stared at his brother, as if trying to memorise his face. "Just promise you'll _stop_, ok? After Abaddon, you put that _blade down. _It's not worth it."

"I can't-"

"Dean," Sam said, his voice was so old, so tired. Too young to be so wronged. "Please."

Dean nodded, slowly, his eyes fixing onto his brothers, his smile aching through the pain. "Ok. Ok Sammy."

Sam smiled back, and the two mirrored each other. Forced and wrong but necessary. _I'm Here. I'm sorry I have to leave you. _"Thank you."

"You know it's my job to _protect _you," Dean stated, barely holding it together. "It's my _job_."

"Well, it was my job to protect you," Sam said, smiling faintly. "And I messed that up."

"You didn-"

"I did."

The brothers fell into silence and the only thing disrupting the quiet was Sam's occasional gasp for breath as Abaddon tried to force her way back into control.

Dean smiled, and his lips shook so he pressed them tightly together. "Tell me when."

Sam clasped Dean's hand and realised that his brother didn't want to be alone. Was staring into an eternity of uncertainty. Sam looked hard at his brothers face. And tried his _best_ to be brave.

Then his fingers clenched around his brothers and he nodded. "Now."

Dean raised the blade and plunged it into Sam's stomach. It was Abaddon that screamed, as Sam's skeleton flickered and the white light of the Knights shone out of his eyes.

Dean closed himself, closed in on himself to block out his brothers screams. Closed his eyes, pushed his hands over his ears. _Gone. Closed. Please, don't go._

When it was done, and the world was dark again, Dean opened his eyes. He clutched Sam's body, one hand on his brothers shoulder, the other on his chest.

The first blade dropped to the ground, dead and darkened, dirtied by Winchester blood.

Dean pressed his face to Sam's chest, hair brushing his little brothers chin, and he closed his eyes. He would move from this spot, perhaps. One day. But this, this brother, who's skin was still warm, who could be sleeping, should Dean just reach over and close his eyes. Should Dean place his hand over the hole he'd made with the blade.

But now he sat, the two tied themselves together. Dean's Colette. Dean's Abel. Sam's Cain.

Sam Winchester was dead. Metatron was still alive, Crowley called the shots on Hell, and the world had never seemed more hopeless.

Dean whispered two words into Sam, two words that he hadn't said in a while. The fundamental truth.

"_My brother._"

_Don't leave me here alone._

* * *

_Thus ends Finale/Colette. Yes, I am evil. Yes I did cry when I wrote the ending. Yes I am a sadist, and a masochist. Whateves. Anyway, sorry about the little self-insert. I like to think that after my eternity of burning in Hell (I did a test and got into the 6th circle. Yay me.) I'd become some sneaky double agent for the warring factions. I've never been called Monique though, I mean, I think..._

_Depending on how the Season finishes up, I'll either continue this AU or go on as a fully operation Season 10 fic. Season 10. Woo. Scary thought._

_So vale, for now but not forever._

_*UPDATE* S10 AU in progress. Hope you like angst and the bros bein bros._


	4. Next

_Here's the introduction to the next story, which can be found under the name "Colette: Season 10", which is a continuation of the AU_

* * *

"_You ever, uh, seen a grown man naked_?"

"Would you turn that off please?" Sam asked, entering the room, glaring at Dean and then pointedly staring at the television screen. He looked oddly out of place in the motel that they were staying in, Hair damp where he'd washed it, face smooth and eyes bright, alert, like he hadn't just been sitting around for the better part of two weeks. Dean didn't see the issue towards growing lazy and rested while they could, sneaking naps on the couch and hitting whatever bar hadn't kicked them out yet. Sam wasn't too for the second, if Dean was to take in Sam's near constant bitching about it. Nor was he really that hyped up over the first, Dean always managing to do _something _annoying while Sam tried to sleep. The one memorable time that he had drawn a penis on his brothers cheek with permanent marker had also been remembered for Sam's revenge. Three cans of tinned spaghetti, tanning oil and a whole lot of empty shampoo bottles.

Dean glanced over and grinned. "Why, is it making you uncomfortable, Sammy?"

Sam glared, not sitting down but moving further into the room. "It's _Sam_. Anyway, you know the rules. No porn, not while I'm in the room."

"It's not even porn," Dean looked back to the screen dismissively. The day was rolling down to an end and he'd tried to ignore how agitated Sam was being. Clean hair and day clothes, twitching fingers and determined glances. Of course, He was due back any minute now, but surely Sam should at least be prepared for _that_. The fighting? Well, Dean would mediate. As always. Get them both to bed without anyone throwing punches. Like always.

Sam gave him a look. "If you say, 'Explicit Romantic Plot Line' one more time, I swear to God―"

"Nah, it's Flying High," Dean said, eyes not moving from where the movie was playing out, staring hard, not seeing Sam in his jacket, not seeing the nearly packed bag by the door.

"You do know that that sounds like the name of a porno, right?"

"It's a comedy," Dean explained, waving his arms airily in front of himself for emphasis, before letting them drop to his lap. "Whatever. I was bored of this conversation like, three minutes ago."

Sam paused and was silent for a few minutes, finger tapping incessantly on his thigh. "When―"

"He said a few days, it's been a few days, he'll be back," Dean answered, rolling his eyes, before Sam could get the words out. "What's the rush, anyway?"

Sam looked purposefully nonchalant, brushing his too long hair back from his eyes and shrugging, unable to look up to meet Dean's gaze. "No rush. I'm just worried."

Dean scoffed and turned his attention back to the movie. "Worried. Ha. That'd be a first."

"Jesus _Christ_. Don't be such a jerk, Dean."

Dean raised his eyebrows, looking again over to his little brother. "Don't be such a little bitch, Sam."

Sam just made a tight face and looked away, sighing and staring pointedly towards the closed curtains over the window.

Dean sighed to himself and dropped over his arms so that he leant on his elbows, skin pressing onto his soft track pants. He glanced over to Sam and tried not to feel..._jealous_? Was that the word? That Sam could want their father back. It's not that Dean didn't love the guy, it's not that he didn't want him home, but as soon as he walked through the door, there'd be something wrong. Sam would pick it up or John would, and then they'd butt heads. And they wouldn't stop. Not until John found another one man job, or Sam took off to clear his head. And Dean would be caught in the middle. Smiling through gritted teeth, one hand on his father's chest, the other one pressed into his brothers.

Ordering Sam to cool his head, take a walk. Staying behind and apologising on Sam's behalf, saying that Sam didn't mean it, that he was just bitter, that is was the _life_...And John would just sit, alone on the table, staring dejectedly off into the distance, only perking up when Sam came home, eyes wary, but mouth pulling into a hesitant smile. And Sam would apologise, and the peace would last an hour.

Those hours were Dean's favourite time. The in-between. Where they'd watch whatever was on, and John would clean out his gun, over and over again, and Dean, when he was younger, he'd fall asleep to that sound, arm pressed into Sam's slowly breathing back, John's deft fingers working up a Hunter's Lullaby. In the very early years, when it was just them, and he wasn't old enough to take care of Sammy on their own, the clicks were slow and careful, wrong and disjointed, coupled with curses under breath and John shifting his leg on top of the bed, irritated. Sammy would be softly snoring, his hair brushing on Dean's shoulder, Dean's knee, Dean's arm, his breaths slow and calm, his face lost amid innocence and no concern. Then he'd found the diary, John had grown tougher, trained Dean to be tougher, trained little Sammy to hold a gun and everything started unravelling.

Years and years later, after _everything_, Dean would wonder when it happened. His switch, from child to adult. From home meaning a place and a time and _Dad_, to meaning a black car with toy soldiers stuffed down crevices, _Sam_. He and Sammy and Baby, that was home. On the road, singing as loudly as they could to a song they'd heard a thousand times. Dean knew all the lyrics and Sam did too, though he only sung the chorus, and the world would flash by like days slipping from spring to winter.

(_Oh God, Dean missed Sam so much. So damn much._)

There was a rap on the door and Sam stood to attention. And then Dean noticed the bag, and the clothes, and the shoes, and the time.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked, trying not to sound worried, trying not to be _terrified_. He gave Sam a once over and stood up. "A little late for the bowling alley with Jose and the boys, isn't it?"

Sam just looked down and clenched his jaw.

Dean felt something build in his stomach, something freezing and wrong. He felt it collide in it's iciness, in its invasion. It travelled up his spine and settled as a bad taste in the back of his mouth.

_No_.

The door opened and John walked in, smiling in greeting. "Hiya boys. How were things?"

"They were fine, Dad," Dean answered readily, walking over and shaking John's hand, helping him by taking the weapon bag over to the third untouched bed.

"Sorry you couldn't be on this one," John sighed. "It was a bitch, but it was a one-man bitch."

_Now, that sounds vaguely dirty_, Dean felt like saying, and would have said were it anyone but their father.

John looked over at Sam, sitting down heavily on the table. His quick Hunter's eyes drew to the bag and the clothes and the shoes. "Goin' somewhere, son?"

Sam cleared his throat, looked over and raised his chin.

Dean closed his eyes. _No, Sammy. Not now._

But when Sam spoke he was perfectly civil. Like he'd been practising it. Like he'd been practising it for _years_. "I've been accepted into College."

You could hear the American Flag over the entrance of the motel flapping in the wind.

"I'm sorry," John frowned, standing slowly, looking across at his proud youngest son with steady eyes. "You _what_?"

"Got accepted into college," Sam repeated, not looking at Dean, looking at _anywhere _but Dean. He stared hard at John though, those Hazel eyes burning with defiance. "Stanford, actually. Pre-Law."

"How the Hell did you get accepted into College?" John asked, and though he didn't mean it to undermine Sammy's intelligence, Dean winced anyway, seeing Sam's face darken, feeling the threatening storm of words and regret that would soon follow.

"I applied. I got a full ride," Sam replied monotonously, which Dean was grateful for. Keep it simple, keep it safe, please, _please_, don't tear their family apart. He clenched his jaw. "I'm going."

That taste, that had crept along Dean's tongue and through his throat, that taste that seemed the reverberate through his entire body, seemed to ache now. Just _ache _with exhaustion. Sammy had gotten into college. Sammy was leaving Dean. Sam was saying goodbye.

"The _Hell _you are," John snarled. "You think you can just leave us? Me and your brother? _Family_? What kind of son _are _you?"

Sam looked like he was expecting this, looked like he was ready with an answer, and Dean had to wonder how long Sam had known. How many times he'd nearly said, how many times Dean had nearly found out. "I'm not _just _your son! What the _hell _kind of father isn't _proud _of their kid who gets a full ride? To _Stanford_?"

"You're leaving us, and you want me to be _proud_?" John asked, laughing humourlessly. "You're a selfish son of a bitch, you know that?"

Dean balled his hands into fists. Wrong, wrong. Push and he'll just push harder. Sammy, so stubborn and defiant, especially in times like these, especially when he was told that he mustn't do something.

Sam nodded and gave a short bark of laughter. "Selfish? You got some nerve, Old Man. You drag me and Dean around the country and you expect us to just _wait _around for the goddamn monster that killed Mom to just fall into our lap? You ruined our childhood just so you could avenge some _memory_?"

"Don't talk about her like that," John said, and his voice was deadly cold, distant. The boys could feel it, he was close to losing it, close to _really _getting angry. "Don't you _dare_."

"If I didn't have a picture of mom, I wouldn't even know what she _looked _like," Sam spat. He hadn't set down his bag. If anything, his hand had tightened around the handle. "So yeah, I'm gonna go to college. Because _that's _the life Mom would have wanted for us. You really think she'd look down at this and be _happy_? You think she'd be ok with _any _of it?"

"I swear to god, Sam," John said, nearly shaking. "Shut your damn _trap_."

"Well, I'm going," Sam looked around the room, to John and then to Dean, finally to Dean, and whatever Dean must have looked like must have made Sam falter, must have made him pause. But then he moved on, eyes flashing bright and angry again. "I'm going to go and _make _something of my life."

"Saving people," John said curtly. "That's not _makin' _something of your life? That's not doin' good enough for you Sam? You gotta be some hot-shot lawyer to finally feel like you're _contributing_?"

"Don't twist my words," Sam told him harshly.

He turned and walked to the door, throwing it open. The breeze that rushed through it was like a punch to Dean's gut, like a sock in the jaw. Like the last song of a swan before it died.

"I swear, Sam," John said low, slow, desperate. "You walk through that door, you don't _ever _walk back. You hear me?"

Sam paused, looked over his shoulder and sent a tight, bitter smile their way. "Loud and clear."

The door slammed shut, cutting off another gust of wind. Sam disappeared outside, the motel room shook empty with only two people in it.

John was breathing heavily, but Dean couldn't hear anything, nothing but the ringing in his ears. Sam had just _left_. Left like...like all of it...their _family_...was nothing. Like they were _nothing_. Nothing and nothing and _nothing_.

"Goddamn it!" John swung his fist and flipped over the table, yelling and kicking out, catching the faux wood before it hit the ground.

Dean's breathing picked up, his heart rate crept up. _Nothing and nothing and nothing amen._

John spoke, but Dean couldn't hear the words. Just the sound and the tempo and the door slamming, again and again. _You should have seen, you should have known._

_Nothing and nothing and nothing._

"Dean!" John barked. "Dean!"

Dean blinked and looked over.

"Did you know?"

Did he know what? That Sam was going to leave? Or that Sam didn't want to stay? That Sam wanted to be a lawyer? Or that he didn't want to be a Hunter? That Sam knew what Mom wanted more than both of them, and they both knew it, or that Sam was never coming back?

Dean swallowed and shook his head slowly, trying to unravel all his thoughts, trying to sneak through all he missed on purpose. "No. I didn't know."

John watched him, half surprised, half upset. Then he bared his teeth and kicked again at the ruined table. "_Goddamn _it!"

Dean just stared off, towards the door Sam had exited. Exit stage left. Left. He'd left. Left Dean. Where was home now? Where? Left? Door? Sam? Come back?

_Nothing and nothing and nothing._

(_Nothing and nothing and nothing. He'd forgotten how consuming it was. Darkness and nothingness and hoplessness and death. And watching him die. And _death.)

Dean stared. He did not sleep that night.

Neither of them did.

* * *

_The rest can be found if you look for it on my author page. Thanks for reading!_


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